


Can I Get an Opinion?

by raijuthehyeju



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Beginnings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode s02e06: The Sound of Thunder, Episode s02e11: Perpetual Infinity, Episode s02e13: Such Sweet Sorrow Part 1, F/F, HC: keyla detmer loves bad puns, Mutual Pining, POV Outsider, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Advice, Season 2 spoilers, Slow Burn, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raijuthehyeju/pseuds/raijuthehyeju
Summary: Silly fools, don't you know? Gays travel in packs.Or: the Discovery bridge's love life is blossoming even more, but some come seeking advice before the first move is made.





	1. detmer POV || do you have a moment?

**Author's Note:**

> expanding on the fact that detmer and burnham served on two ships together and they would be like old roommates || wlw space solidarity y'all || no need for up-to-date canon compliance, will update when able || eric andre voice, begging for the wlw promised for season 2: LET ME IN. LET ME IIIIIIIIN || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

The Ba’ul had been stopped, the Kelpiens had been saved, and another Red Angel spotting had been logged, transcribed, and accounted for- in no small thanks to Mr. Saru, and the entire planet of Kaminar.

All in a day’s work for the USS Discovery.

Now, however, was a much more important event: dinner time.

Lieutenant Keyla Detmer had been permitted to leave the bridge before the formal end of Omega Shift that night since she had already logged in the unique navigational scans she’d read off the Ba’ul spacecraft. Those things were simply _immense,_ what on earth was it even like to operate the kind of bearings those things required for ships of that mass? How many navigators did they have to have to coordinate those maneuvers? Or paired ops-officers, for that manner?

Oh well, who cared- she had the best ops-officer-girlfriend at her side to help her figure it out, anyway. Who needed some big fancy space pylons when you had the spinniest ship in the 'fleet that could run on shrooms?

Joann was still on the clock for little longer since she had to run diagnostics on the helm, just to ensure the Ba’ul channel didn’t screw around further with the bridge's computer, so she ate a chicken tikka masala dinner by herself at one of the Mess Hall’s open tables. It would be a while before the shift end, so other than a few random stragglers from engineering and a handful of cloistered medical staff, she was by herself, content to pass the time by catching up on the media feeds from around the ship.

She looked up as a certain Commander Burnham traipsed in, determination mixed with distraction causing her brow to furrow naturally on her way. Detmer, of course, responded with a grin, but was surprised at how much Burnham seemed to perk up as her eyes widened when she spied Keyla. What the… did she have something on her face, did Michael just happen to remember something and the ginger cyborg was the one to remind her of it? Michael held up a finger as if to say ‘one minute,’ going to the replicator to order (and Detmer would quote) “one custom ‘green drink’ for Commander Burnham; large,” and a single apple. Once synthesized, she trotted back towards where Detmer was sitting, plopping down across from the Lieutenant as Detmer couldn’t help but smirk at the situation.

“So that was a little nuts on the bridge,” Keyla chuckled.  
“Oh, so you don't say,” Michael said back after a sip to her shake. “Where’s Joann at?”  
“Still there,” Keyla sighed, “prepping the end of Omega Shift diagnostics is taking extra time since the Ba’ul thought so highly of their own UI design as to hijack ours earlier. What brings you down here for a snack-dinner like that?”

Michael paused, firming her lips as Keyla watched her crewmate.

“I’m heading out for a bit,” she told Detmer, “had to grab _something_ before I depart. I think I know where Spock might be... or at least, where I can get some answers as to his whereabouts. But I gotta go it alone for this.”

Keyla paused at this. “You’ll be alright?”  
“I’ll have to be,” she admitted with a shrug, “considering the stakes, right?”  
“‘Course.”

The navigator poked at her rice for a bit, eyes looking back up to Burnham.

“...You’re thinking about something else,” Keyla pointed out, “you looked like you were gonna pass out realizing something when you walked in. Everything ok?”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Michael Burnham, I have served on two Starfleet ships with you,” Detmer retorted with a knowing look, “there have been _multiple ranks_ in which I have seen you realizing something was up, and then keeping quiet about it.”

That got the Commander in a evidence-powered corner. So, taking another hard swig of her green drink, Michael swallowed the thick shake, rolling words around in her mouth before she looked back to Keyla.

“I was actually... hoping to talk to you about something,” Burnham admitted, “something personal. To you. ...Me. And I was just… surprised to see you here. Because it’s been quite bothersome now for the past couple of days, and I have yet to come to a conclusion about it on my own ...And I believe you are a good reference point to consult for this sort of situation.”

“Oh?” Keyla piped, raising her brow in question. That was certainly more words than she’d expected to hear out of ‘quick and to the point Michael,’ so her attention was immediately gained. “what’s up.”

  
Detmer couldn’t help but keep back a grin as she watched Michael, familiarly, reset her jaw while she pondered her words.

Burnham met her gaze again. “I’ve been… feeling something, Key.”

“Oh no; already a bad start for you.”

That got an inkling of a smirk out of Michael. “What I mean is,” she began to allude, “I’ve been experiencing… emotions I’m not quite regularly familiar with. Or emotions, rather, that I have chosen to distance myself from recently due to their track records in my life. Perhaps emotions I am just not… ready to deal with again. Or at least not yet.”

Keyla put a fork-full into her mouth, still very much listening to Michael. “Are these good emotions? Like, happy emotions, admiration, liking, lo--”  
“They start out like it, yes,” Burnham replied, “then crash and burn.”  
“But these… _haven’t_ crashed and burned yet,” Keyla narrowed out.  
“Mhm.”  
“Also known as ‘crashed and _burnham’d.”_

Michael reset her jaw again, nodding at her with the most repressed symptoms of humor. “You know I _could_ walk away from this conversation right now--”

“And whatever it is that’s making you _feel_ these emotions,” Keyla interrupted her with a smirk and a pointer finger.  
Michael conceded. “Right,”  
“Is still a good thing and hasn’t gone badly yet.”  
“Yes.”  
“And you’d say this source is a good thing for you?”  
“Yes?”  
“On both ends?”  
“I’d… like to think so, yes.”    
“Right.”  
“Okay.”

She took a bite, allowed a chew to orchestrate a pause, then swallowed. “So,” Keyla sighed, setting down her fork and folding her hands to look at Michael expectantly. “Do I at least get to know who it is?”

There it was; the thing that Commander Michael Burnham did when there was a _thing_ she didn’t want to talk about.

Detmer got a small grin out of her own verbal craftiness as Michael readjusted in her seat, scooching closer, looking at Keyla dead in the eyes.

“You won’t say anything?”  
“Can I get Jo’s opinion at least?”  
“You _both_ won’t say anything?”  
The navigator winked. “Shock my implant, hope to die.”

Michael gave her old crewmate a smirk.

So she leaned in.

And there, in the quietest voice Detmer thought Michael Burnham had ever mustered in her life on a starship, was the name “Tilly” uttered into her bone conduction earpiece.

Keyla felt her eye’s optical lens dilate as she tried to hold back a wide smile, already feeling as sore as when she smiled across at Jo at conn-ops. She looked, really _looked_ Burnham over after the confession; the woman was practically restraining herself in her seat, she saw, Keyla feeling as if the grin was infectious by the way Michael was trying to conceal the thrill in her eyes. But yet, at the same time, Keyla relished in this sudden rush- for her crew, Discovery’s crew (and the Shenzhou’s crew, rest their souls) had gone through so much now with the war, come out scarred and battered and beaten from a cruel saga of unfortunate events and an even more abusive captain… so why not allow the heart to sing when it got the chance to dance? Why not revel in what beauty the universe had left for them with someone, people that bring us joy in company and delight in discovery and exploration? Especially when Tilly and Michael were just so _perfect-_ always supporting one another, back when Sylvia was such a saint when Michael had first come aboard, even when herself _and_ Saru had brushed her off out of petty resentment and misplaced spite… so yes, Michael; for the love of God, find happiness, relief in someone, especially with someone like Tilly, someone who cares so much for you and your happiness and safety...

It was the step Keyla had taken with Joann, wasn’t it?

She gave a little nod to the Commander. “I’m happy for you, Michael.”

It was here, though, that Burnham broke Keyla’s gaze.

“The last two times I allowed myself to feel like this, they’ve all ended in worse chaos than I felt like when they began,” Michael retorted. “Captain Georgiou is dead. And then I brought back a Georgiou who’s definitely _not_ our Georgiou, and I don’t know what I may have unleashed into this world. I don't know what that makes me feel; I was selfish, and I did not consider how that might make you or Saru feel, too, much less _anyone_ in Starfleet, especially to those who served on the Shenzhou...  And everything- everything with Tyler, being on this station, it’s--”

Michael’s lips thinned as as she sighed through her nose, mushing her hand against her face while an elbow propped her pounding temples up. “I’m tired. Tired and confused and... _scared_ of screwing up one of my best friendships in life if I say something, because I started to feel something again.”

“Michael,” Keyla assured as her hand instinctively balled up in support, “I remember everything. What you had, what _we_ all had with Georgiou, especially with what _you_ did, I… I get it. Saru and I are probably the only ones who do for the nearest millions of light years. You cared for her- probably moreso on a level none of us besides ‘Shenzhou’s number one’ could ever understand. And now everything with Tyler, I--... I don’t know him that well, but we noticed. We’re your crewmates. Your friends. And you… you have support in that. You do now.”

She paused when she saw Michael’s lip firm at that in a relieved smile. A pang of guilt struck through Keyla, remembering those first few weeks when Burnham came aboard Discovery; seething at her in dumbfounded shock, unfairly attributing Michael to what came because of the war as an easy-to-put-a-face-to-frustration scapegoat… but now, understanding what they’d all gone through- that everyone had come out of the dark tunnel to the light of untainted stars as a crew and united front?

It felt good. Good for every physical memory that lasted: from both the present, and who she was once.

“And also?” Keyla added quietly, her smile growing more confident.

Michael waited for her to finish with intrigue.

“Sylvia is _nowhere_ near any of them. Because she makes you feel good, and she’s a literal ray of goddamn sunshine.”

“See? You get it,” Michael retorted, Keyla feeling a laugh splash across her face as Michael chuckled along with her. “You get it, she’s just… a treasure. She makes me happy. I’ve been- thinking about things ever since we pulled her out of the Mycelial Network, how I couldn’t let her go, how…” Micheal stopped herself, “And I feel like if I squander this chance I get, I might miss out on something really good for once in my life.”

“Sylvia can can’t help but nearly cry when she steps on one of Stamets’ samples by accident,” Keyla affirmed, “there’s a reason Discovery was willing to make a jump into the Network like that for her. And… can I just say,” she crooned, “you’d both be _wonderful_.”

“Stop,” Michael asked in a fakely irritated tone, trying to collect her composure with a grin.  
“And you’re both so cute together already~”  
“Really now.”  
“Oh, you don’t think Joann and I don’t notice you two?”  
“Do not force me to turn this conversation and series of compliments back on to you and _your_ partner, Keyla Detmer.”  
“I might not mind it too much- I hardly mind people confirming how great Joann is so I can swoon right along with them~” Keyla quipped back as the navigator sat her wrist under her jaw. But she saw Michael relax in her seat, calculating a possible solution in those constantly-working gears of hers.

“Any advice you have for me, Lieutenant?”

“Just find a time where you’re both comfortable, or- after doing something that makes you both happy, I dunno,” Keyla shrugged, her smile widening again at a certain memory popping up, “I mean- you were all there for when I asked Jo to date me, and I was a nervous wreck! What’s… What’s the worst that could happen, right? You really think Ensign Sylvia Tilly is capable of holding a grudge against anyone on Discovery who didn’t deserve it, against _you_ especially? If anything you’ll just… know how strongly you both feel for one another, in case not. And that’s gotta matter something, right? Besides, if you ask me...” Keyla alluded with a cat-like smirk.

“Oh I absolutely _will_ ask you, Lieutenant Detmer.”  
“With regards to how Ensign Tilly will react to this... I don’t think those feelings of yours are 100% exclusive _just_ to you.”

A ping of Keyla’s eye thermal indicator flashed a quick UI notification that the temperature had suddenly fluctuated in Burnham’s face, watching her friend’s cheeks darken and her earns burn in real time. Michael digested this information (albeit slowly), nodding to herself with the best attempt at ‘logic’ it looked like she could muster.

God, it was the same damn look she got whenever she’d get flustered with one of Captain Georgiou’s compliments on the Shenzhou’s bridge.

“When are you gonna say something?”  
“I can’t,” Michael tried to compose again, finishing off the last of her green drink, “Not-- not now, at least. Not when I’m compromised looking for Spock.”

“I’m honored you came to talk to me before you jetted outta here.”

Michael smiles. “I’m thankful you had time to host me.”  
"Seemed fate timed that up perfectly."   
"Please, we've had enough dealings with time orchestration in the last week to last us a lifetime; I don't need to be thinking about fate interfering with my romantic inclinations."

Keyla gave her a nod, moving that originally-balled fist to set a comforting hand over Michael’s own. “Good luck out there, Michael.”  
“You too. With whatever happens while I’m gone.”  
“I’d almost say I’d be disappointed if the ship didn’t blow up. But promise you’ll talk to her soon, okay? Because you’re coming back. You absolutely better.”  
“I’ve got a lot of promises to keep. That’s one of them that’s bringing me back.”

And Keyla Detmer smiles at her Commander-once-more. “Be safe, Burnham.”

She gives Michael one more supportive squeeze of the hand before she makes her exit out of the Mess Hall, Keyla watching her disappear out and down the hall with a reflective smile. She poked at her near-finished tikka masala, a hand against her cheek as she mused what they’d be like together… Burnham and Tilly, commander and ensign- cutest damn couple-not-couple on the bridge already even without Michael’s recently revealed feelings. She tried to picture them both dating, being more comfortable with each other than they already were, her friends just being _happy…_

It was something she had difficulty imagining with herself with Jo before she confessed.

But it was just like Burnham said at the Paris Armistice.  
“The only way to defeat fear is to tell it no.”  
And Keyla was a hell of a lot happier with Joann Owosekun once she’d said ‘no’ to her own fears.

With one last spoonful of rice, she pulled out her PADD, pulling up Jo’s messaging window as her fingers tapped against it.

_DETMER: <ur off the omega shift in like 20 minutes right>_  
_OWOSEKUN: <yeah just finishing my last diagnostic preps for our consoles. why, everything ok???>_  
_DETMER: <amazing. Meet me @ home; I’ll bring u a plate and drink from Mess, i have news...>_  
_OWOSEKUN: <thank u!! i love u!!>_  
_OWOSEKUN: <oh??? :o >_  
_DETMER: <...to get messy with. Get it. b/c i’m in the mess hall ;))) >_  
_OWOSEKUN: <nvm i take it back>_  
_DETMER: <NO>_  
_OWOSEKUN: <I’M CHANGING QUARTERS’ PASSCODES!!!>_  
DETMER: <DON’T LEAVE ME OUT IN THE COLD BABY>  
_OWOSEKUN: <DISCOVERY'S LIFE SUPPORT IS SET TO A BALMY 294K>_  
_DETMER: <love u silly> _  
_OWOSEKUN: < :***** >_


	2. owosekun POV || may I ask you something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Owosekun's time to dispense the advice.  
> Wait; what kind of questions are being asked on the other side of this mutual pining dilemma? Are two sides of the same coin really so different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me waiting for the wlw romance before the S2 season finale like -judge judy slapping her wristwatch.gif- || takes place riiiight after S2e6/after michael leaves to get spock || card project is in reference to my culmets-focused Tilly POV fic 'no postage necessary', go give it a slap of a read if you wanna || gonna have a little intermission w/ detmer and owo by themselves and talking abt stuff || bo-staff training AKA thanks pacific rim for the inspiration || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

It had been 1800 hours now since Discovery was told to stay around Kaminar’s orbit. The ship had been conducting peacekeeping negotiations with some of Starfleet personnel relating to the Ba’ul, monitoring the Kelpiens, and keeping watch out for any new anomalies from where the Red Angel’s signal emanated (as well as waiting staying put for Commander Burnham to get back, hopefully with Spock, but Starfleet Command didn’t need to know that right now). Alpha shift had ended and certain assigned Operations division members were allowed their personal recreation time, Lieutenant Joann Owosekun inviting a certain Ensign Sylvia Tilly to join her in the fitness center for some old-fashioned bo-staff sparring. Business and life as a science vessel, blissfully enough, resumed; Discovery’s crew was always thankful whenever they had a chance to relish in their original science-oriented mission, a crew united by duty and bonds strengthened by war on their precious, shiny, “spinny” starship (as Keyla called it). Able to admire the peacefulness of this blue, ringed planet, a Navigations Lieutenant continued to map out the flight schematics of the Ba’ul ships, a Communications Officer tested out what type of interface tech the Ba’ul had in comparison to Discovery’s UI after Joann’s diagnostics from yesterday finished… it felt like a much-needed break after what-had-been (or what could feel like) a wild goose chase for the Red Angel, and currently, an Ops Lieutenant and Ensign passed the time with some good old physical exercise.

Silver bo-staffs (materialized by Discovery’s computers calibrated to their specific weights and strengths) cracked and crashed against one another in the echoes of the fitness center, Tilly and Owosekun enjoying the emptiness that the Alpha shift’s end allowed them. Bo-staff sparring was always Joann’s favorite form of exercise by far, having started a bit of a friendly competitive league between her, Keyla, Tilly, Airiam, Burnham, and even Bryce (though Rhys always just came by to watch his friends in support, and no one wanted to challenge the medal-winning kickboxer from Earth). Joann may have been damned good at it, but Tilly, who was a quick learner and caught onto things fast, was slacking today; not out of exhaustion, not out of a lack of skill, but something else Jo couldn’t quite put her finger on. Even this last round, the Ensign missed a spot on her waist Joann purposely left open to see if she’d take the bait, Tilly instead going for her front and Jo giving a quick deflect and then threatening her face, stopping inches away as their lungs heaved from exhaustion.

Joann spoke the tally. “4-1.”

Tilly simply nodded as she gasped for air.

The Lieutenant's eye twitched, her mouth hanging open to get some air as the staff fell to her side and she stepped backwards on the platform. “Five minute break?”  
“Yeah--”  
“Okay-- computer, pause vital monitors and timer--”

With heaving gasps, Owosekun and Tilly allowed their bo staffs to clatter to the floor, the ginger’s pulled-back ponytail cascading over her shoulders as she leaned on her knees for breath. The Fitness Center’s AI pinged with recognition of the request, displaying Jo and Sylvia’s statistics on a UI window for them both to look over. Joann, however, was puzzled when the Ensign, who was renowned for taking notes and comparing various statistics down to a shocking degree, nodded and seemed to accept the losses, Joann furrowing her brow as she and her staff were left to review their mid-session roundup. Sylvia? The ‘I count my caloric intake so I can blast past the rest of the Ensigns in the CTP group sprints’ Sylvia Tilly?

Strange.

“Geez Owo, you’re sweeping me today,” Tilly sighed as she wandered to the edge of the platform, “gotta… gotta take it easy on me sometimes--”  
“You told me to _not_ go easy on you when we started these routines,” Joann teased with a tired smile, following behind with wobbly legs. “Got a-- good sweep on me there in the beginning--”  
“Uh-huh, sure, out of like-- what, 15 rounds?”  
“Still got more to go,” Jo reminded.

Tilly didn’t seem to respond (or hear); rather, she simply took a huge gulp of her water, looking down and rotating the metal thing in her hands. Owosekun watched her for a moment, squinting at the pensive look and what it could possibly be to keep her head in the clouds while they smacked each other with _bo staffs,_ for god’s sake.

“You seem a little out of it today, Syl,” Joann breathed, reaching for her workout towel and giving her face a good dab, “everything ok?”  
“Yeah… yeah just-- tired and, you’re real good at this,” Silly stammered out over her out-of-breath fatigue.  
“You’re sure?”  
“Oh yeah, yeah! Just… maybe thinking about-- a _couple_ big things, but nothi--”  
“Buuut nothing,” Joann interjected, giving a big sigh and allowing her heart rate to calm down a little. “But nothing. Come on, you can tell me- and in any case I’m gonna beat it out of you anyway-- with or without a staff.”

Tilly looked back at Joann with a nervous expression.

“Alright, that was a metaphor,” Joann assured with a smirk, which seemed to set Sylvia immediately more at ease. “Kind of.”  
“It’s what sparring is for, isn’t it,” Tilly relinquished.  
“ _And_ to make sure you’re able to beat people up if you need to,” Jo pointed out, “but yes; it’s definitely a great stress relief. Those last days when Lorca was on board and Keyla and I just went to town with these to get all that-- just, _frustration_ out? For all the little shitty things he said?” Joann whistled, “man, that felt good.”

She noticed Tilly’s eyes seemed to sparkle more when she mentioned her partner. “I gotta get good enough so we can all have a tournament or something. ...And when Michael gets back.”  
“Uh-huh- only when _Rhys_ decides to learn anything besides kickboxing.”  
“Ha- that’ll be in a million years; make him be the ref who holds up the signs.”  
“You know he’d be into it.”

A pause hung between them both for half a minute, Joann out of the corner of her eye watching Tilly’s face go through about 50 different emotions as she took one more hearty sip of her water bottle and wipe the back of her hand across her mouth, sitting up straighter as if to prepare herself for something.

“So, um…” Sylvia started. “I’ve been thinking about-- was-- Gonna ask… i-if it’s okay with you, don’t feel the need to respond if it makes you uncomfortable… but when, um. When did you…”

She starts over. “When did you know that you were in love with Detmer?”

And that’s when Owosekun chokes on a rather large swig of water.

Coughing, spatting, a fist thumping against her sternum- Joann’s chest heaved trying to get the water out of the wrong pipe it _definitely_ went down. Sylvia, meanwhile, babbled out “oh my gosh I’m sorry I didn’t even look to see if you were still drinking, breathe,” slapping her back a few times for good measure and assured apologies.

“Whew… woo, okay, I think I got it all up…” Joann managed in a strained voice. “I…”

Now, however, Joann fully remembered what Sylvia had asked her.  
She started to laugh.  
And to cough again.

“Cool, love accidentally choking my own friends,” Tilly said, a small note of depreciation in her voice.

“No no nonono, no, you’re fine,” Joann assures, giving one more cough before she sat her water bottle to its side. “I just think it’s… sweet, you know?” She turns her head to Sylvia now, a kind and expectant smile on her lips. “Why do you ask?”  
“Oh, no-- reason in particular, really,” Tilly lied, “just call me curious- you and Keyla are both really kind and wonderful and good friends to me and I just. I-I know you both started _dating_ after Paris but I didn’t… really… I dunno, I just-- wanted to hear it from you?”

She had a feeling she knew _exactly_ why.

Not that it had to do with the fact that a certain Commander was currently on personal leave right now looking for her fugitive brother.  
_Certainly_ not because of the intimate revelation that the certain Commander shared with a certain Lieutenant Navigator.  
And certainly, _definitely_ not because the Lieutenant Navigator and a Lieutenant Conn-Ops officer talked about it as the certain Commander had permissed they could, both the Navigator and Ops Officer wondering about whether a certain _Ensign_ would also talk to them about a little secret she might have.

So Owosekun’s smile wriggled into something that could be called cute.

“I think it was… right when we detonated those spore clusters onto that moon,” Joann felt herself admit, “and we were all there together, watching on the bridge. It was one of those moments you can’t easily forget, you know? And we’d all had just-- made it out of the Terran Empire, survived coming back to our universe, knowing the war was almost over, and…”

She paused, remembering more intimate details. “And she was right there. Still there, after all that. After everything that had happened to her on the Shenzhou, after everything Discovery had been through, after surviving and just living through… shit. An incredible amount of shit. And there in front of all of us was this-- beautiful beginning of new life. Watching a planet grow before our eyes. And it felt kinda like…”

“Like a metaphor, huh,” Tilly finished for her.

Owosekun nodded. “Yeah. Exactly. And she looked at me from her console, and I thought about everything we’d been through- knowing Lorca was gone, that there was an end in sight if we just tried a little more, and…” she paused for a sigh as she rubbed her hands together, gently nibbling the edge of her lip, “I wanted to hope there could be more. I was already happy being her friend, across-the-conn person, shipmate, but… I wanted to imagine more. She was beautiful. _\--is_ , beautiful,” Jo added for good measure, “I’m very thankful to have her. That she has me. And I can’t imagine life on Discovery without her.”

It was true. All of it. Joann Owosekun didn’t -couldn’t- imagine life aboard Discovery without Keyla Detmer now. Waking up beside her, meals together, beginning and ending shifts at the same time, exploring the stars, learning more about the universe, fighting the good fight for what life there was in the galaxy… for months, they and Discovery’s crew endured the unbearable weight of Lorca’s gaze and hunger for blood- months that felt like they spanned into years. But they’d emerged from the rubble stronger; hardened by tragedy, weathered by the knowledge of what they’d done had taken lives that would leave war’s blood on their hands forever… yet despite it, hers and Keyla’s hearts had enough room for love for the people they were, the people they had become, and the women they would _eventually_ become as time marched on.

And that was all Lieutenant Owosekun needed to keep serving into the galaxy’s infinite expanse; to serve others and explore the mystery they called life.

“Wow, that was really poetic and verbose actually,” Tilly admitted, drawing in a hard sniff. “I mean like I’d known, I-I can see it and know it and I’m happy for you and--”  
“So,” Joann retorted suddenly, a playful grin on her lips as she sat up straighter and took another quick swig of the bottle. “Are you gonna tell me why you _really_ asked?”

Tilly hid behind a nervous little chuckle, “Come on Owo, I already told you; I was just wondering, and--”  
Joann held her same grin.  
“A-and I thought… I…”  
Joann held it.  
“Um,,,”  
Tilly stopped talking.  
Jo’s grin widened into a smirk.

And before Joann’s eyes, Tilly’s entire face turned beet red and she made a long, loud, pained noise of a groan, Joann leaning back some from a sudden laugh.

“Okay, god, fine- you win!” Sylvia exasperated, running a hand down her flushed cheek as Joann kept giggling, “Sheesh, you’re really good at that you know, that’s a scary power to have--”  
“Oh really, you’re shocked that _me_ of all people knows how to look at someone considering who I’m dating!” Joann retorted.  
“UGGGH okay okay okay. Fine. Sure. Whatever. …’s not like I’ve been… _wrangling_ with this for weeks now and it feels like it’s eating my guts inside out and could possibly ruin _everything_ if I screw it up or--”

“Sylvia,” Joann urged, putting a friendly hand on Tilly’s shoulder, “I could tell even when we were sparring. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Tilly fidgeted with her hands some.

“You won’t tell anyone?”  
“Can I talk about it with Keyla?”  
“...You _both_ won’t tell anyone?”

Joann smirked. “Promise.”

So Sylvia gave a long sigh out her nose, folded her hands in her lap…

“I’ve been thinking about… someone. A lot. Someone that I _also_ don’t wanna imagine life without. O-on Discovery, as a shipmate, a friend, a… and it’s hard y’know,” she admitted, “because I can’t help but feel so much, and I feel like whatever I’ve been feeling _lately_ especially has been so much… care and concern and _admiration_ for this person who is just. Amazing. At everything. And tells me that _I’m_ amazing, imagine that! And I know I know, ‘work on your self confidence and all that,’ but when I hear it from this person I just-- I really really believe it. And I can’t believe it’s this person telling me this because they’re _also_ amazing. More than that. Beautiful, they’ve been through so much and come out of it so _good_ and is so _brave_ and _stunning_ and _smart_ and… I wanna tell them that. Like on a deep, deep level- the same level you kinda. Talked. About. But two things; one, I… wanna be sure it’s that. It’s… that it’s--”  
“Love?” Joann finished for her.

Tilly looked as if the air was taken out of her lungs. “Yeah. But I don’t… I don’t wanna screw this up, Owo. Tell them this and then-- everything we had as friends comes crashing down, just because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut or because I could grow out of it, I-- ...I’m scared. Scared of what, I-- don’t know-- because they make me the _opposite_ of scared,” Sylvia pleaded. “They make me feel like I could take on the universe. But I don’t wanna lose them.”

Oh my god.  
They totally dug one another, and neither had the guts to say it first.  
But Joann needed to hear it straight from the ginger’s mouth.  
So she chose her next words carefully, eyes roving over Tilly’s close-to-losing-it expression.

“Can you… tell me who it is?” she asked gently. “Maybe I can… give better advice if I know who it i--”

“Burnham, it’s Burnham- it’s Michael _fucking_ Burham because of course it is!” Tilly laughed with a defeated crash of her own composure. “What kind of chance do I even _have_ with her, Jo? Especially now that Tyler’s back? I’m, she’s, she’s just-- so great, so amazing, inspires me every day, I have so much fun being with her and she’s a joy and has been through so much and is _still_ so incredible despite it, and…”

“Hey, hey, hey now,” Joann tried to slow, setting a hand on her shoulder again and giving it a light squeeze for support. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. _You_ work hard too. _You_ bust your ass every day with the CTP. You're even orchestrating a card project for _Doctor Culber_ , on your own time and own care... And Sylvia, you’re… you’re a delight to be around, too. Just as much as any of us. I can _pretty_ well say for the rest of the bridge crew that you’re an _integral_ part of Discovery, and it wouldn’t be the same without you. And Michael?” Owosekun said with a spreading smile, “still rooming with you even after both of your promotions? All of us, together? You and her, on the bridge? Engineering? Paris? Everything we’ve been through? You matter. To me, to Keyla, Bryce, Rhys, Airiam, the Captain, Discovery, _Starfleet…_ especially to Michael. And hey, between you and me, Sylvia,” Joann alluded with a smirk as clear as day, “Have you considered the feeling may be _mutual_?”

Tilly.exe stopped working.

Her face, again, lit up bright red, running a hand down a cheek that was tinged with sweat from their earlier workout. A million questions seemed to power all at once through the Ensign’s brain, Joann watching her heart break and mend back together in real time at this revelation… and then, some sort of imagination seemed to carry her away, if for a brief moment, before Sylvia returned Jo’s caring gaze, swallowing hard to keep back, what seemed to be, tears.

“W-what do you think should I do, then?” She asked in an oh-so-sweetly-meek voice.

Joann offered her another smile. “Be honest, Syl. Just… tell her. And that's hard for me to say since _Keyla_ was the one in our relationship who had the guts to first say something. But would you rather exist with _not_ knowing? Having to stuff those feelings down all the time? Not living the best lives you could be right now? If she wants to be happy with you too, then do it. Embrace it. And if she doesn’t? She’ll know how happy she makes you feel. That you’re an extra little ray of sunshine in her life when you’ve got enough to share it with the entire crew,” Jo promised her. “We were willing to jump into another _dimension_ to get you, Tilly. Michael _volunteered_ to go with Commander Stamets. You’re worth a partner. You’re worth having someone care about you like that. You and Burnham, you’d… be perfect for one another, really.”

“Oh my Goooood, don’t!” Sylvia laughed.  
“You know I’m right!” Jo boasted.  
“Geez, gosh, just rub it in why don’t you--”  
“I only speak the truth~”

“Okay… okay, I’ll-- think on it. I’ve got some time since she’s out looking for Spock, and hey, this was-- kinda perfect timing, I was thinking of coming to either one of you anyway about it, and…” Sylvia nodded to Jo now, a new determination settling in her brow and her back sitting a little straighter. “Thank you, Owo. Really. I mean it.”

“No problem,” she promised, taking one more swig of her bottle before slapping Tilly playfully on the arm to get up and resume their sparring. “What a rainbow crew we’ve got in the fleet; between you, me and Keyla, Michael, Nilsson, Airiam--”  
“Airiam?!”  
“In the past!” Owo laughed, “she was telling us about that lady she hooked up with in Paris.”  
Sylvia nodded, recalling, “Ohhhhh okay okay yeah I remember now, I thought you meant she was _dating_ someone and I was like ‘without telling us, what!?’”  
“And then there’s engineering--”  
“Oh don't remind me, ugh- Reno has been so nice to have around... even if she does get on Commander Stamets' nerves--"  
"I bet it's hilarious to watch, though."  
"You're 100% right it is--"   
“Maybe Pike too? Bi?”  
“He’s _gotta_ be,” Tilly gossiped, “he’s _way_ too flirty for his own good--” and with a gasp, she realized, “oh my god we could call him--”  
“Captain _Bike_!” They both exclaimed, laughing as they set down their water bottles and got back up into the ring. Joann re-strapped her training hand tape, picked up the bo-staff, and gave it a light twirl as she waited for Tilly to get herself ready.

“Now come on,” the Ops Lieutenant called, shoving the thought aside at just _how_ much her and Keyla had to discuss tonight, “four rounds, best out of five again.”  
“Okeydoke,” Sylvia agreed, giving her own staff a light wave to find her balance again. “I’m gonna smoke ya anyway.”

Joann smirked. “That’s more like it, Ensign.”


	3. reno POV || what do you think?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, something as simple as duct tape goes a long way.  
> Also known as: local grease monkey dispenses wlw solidarity and advice to engineering's favorite ginger ensign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW IT'S BEEN APPROXIMATELY ONE MILLION YEARS SINCE I UPDATED THIS FIC || hello again mylvia tag i'm here with even more pining and cute domestic starship shit || reno said "soyousian" so of course my brain immediately thinks "OH COOL ARMENIANS IN SPACE" and not, perhaps, an alien or someone, so i HC jett's wife first name as "Anoush" || set after 2x07/2x08 || i feel guilty doing two tilly-sided POV outsider chapters back-to-back but spock is hard to write for so take this first || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

The snapping and crackling of a torch’s heat fixture was music to Jett Reno’s ears.  
Echoes of her own handiwork off the Jefferies tube she was crammed in was all the white noise she needed.  
And the solitary seclusion the chamber provided while knowing some of Starfleet’s best were out there in a shiny new engineering center was all the company she wanted.

In here, all that mattered to Reno was the way heat reacted with tritanium, and the way that her rough, chiseled, gloved hands guided the torch’s sparks to reconnect the relays.

Because in a ship full of big idea’d brainiacs, _some_ people still had to take care of the nitty-gritty, mechanical details that kept a one-of-a-kind baby of a Crossfield Class like this running.

Jett’s work was meditative, repetitive, and sometimes she liked it like that; after the Hiawatha (and despite Discovery’s knack for finding itself in trouble), she was thankful for some predictable busywork that she could tune out and plug into. For as much as Reno delighted at a new engineering puzzle to solve, she was still seeing a counselor for coping with being stranded for 10 months, surviving nearly every day with what felt like her last fried nerve and hastily learned medical knowledge to save her shipmates. The war had taken its inevitable toll on her, it had taken its toll on all of them, but not in the same ways she heard (and could sometimes see) this stalwart crew had.

Yet despite it all, they managed to come out of it stronger, closer, and one of the most hopeful, fearless crews she’d seen in Starfleet over her many years of service.  
Maybe some of that hope could rub off on her, she'd muse.

But if she saw one more fleck of these blue little shits, she’d abandon that hope and turn these spores red and flaming and on fire until the goddamn mushroom pixie dust was vaporized out of her machinery.

Reno’s torch came into contact with a small poff of shimmering, blue-tinged “gas” that had collected near a bundle of relay circuits, Jett coughing and waving a hand as a burnt-hair-smelling smoke wafted in and out of her range of vision. Nothing too bad a breath of fresh air couldn’t fix, she decided, but being crammed in a sleek little Jefferies tube like this meant Jett wasn’t getting a smell relief soon.

So, with a grunt, Reno leaned back and pulled up her magnifying visor.

“Stameeeets!” her voice echoed down the tube. “Close the damn tube relays when you’re loading up another xenon infusion with the mycelium! God!”

No response. He usually loved to return her bitching with the equivalent of a just-as-bitchy echo.

“Stamets?”

“S-sorry, sorry Commander,” came the distant call of a redhead Ensign, “he just stepped into the cultivation chamber; do you want me to get him?”  
She gave a grunt. “Nah,” she hollered back, leaning against the opposite wall and breathing hard at the effort expended. “I’ll stuff it till he gets outta there. Thanks.”

No response, again. Was he rubbing off on her? God, she hoped not- Tilly was too good to get even a whiff of the stick up Blondie’s ass.

That’s when, before Reno snapped her visor back down over her face to resume her work, she heard the chirp of her communicator.  
With a flip of its receiver, Jett allowed herself a small break.

“Commander Reno here- go ahead.”  
“Hey, it’s Ensign Tilly again, I uhm- didn’t wanna shout too much down the tubes and possibly have it be really loud for you, haha-- anyway you’re uh, shift break is coming up here soon, right--”  
Why on earth was she being asked this. “I can’t get my PADD at my angle to see, but probably- what time is it?”  
“1456, sir--”  
“Yep, I got four minutes apparently,” Reno sighed. “Why, you gotta use the tubes, or--”

The engineer was amused at hearing a nervous laugh on the other end. “N-no no, I’m just doing coding today, but my break is coming up too and I was wondering, uhm… if you had a moment to. Talk. About some stuff, that I uh- want some? Advice on?”

Jett’s tongue was rolling around on the inside of her cheek, nodding along as she listened to the Ensign. “Uhhh-huh. And this is advice you can’t get from Blondie, or--”

“Oh no no no, I do _not_ want to discuss this with Commander Stamets right now considering his own uh. Struggles right now,” she admitted in another nervous laugh. “And I value your opinion too, Commander- but yeah it’s to do with uh. Just some inter… personal… fraternization with other…”

Oh man.

“W-with other shipmates, and I feel you’re uhm, well- very _experienced_ and _familiar_ with these sort of protocols, and we’re kinda on the same wavelength in that area, so--”

Oh geez.

“Like I said, Commander Stamets would get me too but he’s going through some stuff and--”

Jett Reno allowed herself to fully smirk as she put the communicator closer to her mouth.

“Do you need to talk to me because I’m a lesbian, Ensign Tilly?”

The communicator on the other end sounded like it had been dropped to the floor.

“Oh, shit-- yeah, if that’s alright? I can wait if you’re gonna take some time, I-”  
“Don’t sweat it kid,” Reno assured, wrangling up her gear and setting her project into stasis till she returned. “Gimme a bit- thanks for giving me a good reason to go on break.”  
“Thank _you,_ Commander--!”

Jett’s thin hands snapped the communicator shut. She found herself looking off to the side… and Reno allowed herself a smile, shaking her head as she jangled the harness that carried her supplies back up over her shoulders to begin shimmying out of the tube.

Well.   
This oughta be fun.

Clamoring down of the fixture like the “collection of sticks” Jett was, she began to hear the ruckus that Stamets was making now that he was out of the cultivation chamber. He must’ve finally noticed the glorified “fly trap” that she had set up near the warp core apparatus; a suave little filter of her own crafting, it was designed to pull away stray mycelial particles from getting too close into circuitry and other chemical reactors, since Discovery’s drones had a bad habit of ignoring that end of decontamination protocol. But her “kids” that she’d brought with her from the Hiawatha knew when to clean up messes, and the three drones were working together in one temporarily-combined machine to collect stray spores that dared float too close to sensitive equipment.

“I-I don’t know Commander but I can ask her--”  
“Ah-ah-ah, you don’t have to answer for a _thing_ that this grease monkey cooks up, Tilly,” he huffed, to which Jett couldn’t help but hold back a snort as she approached the Jefferies' end.  “I swear, if it didn’t interfere with my spores, I’d almost be _impressed_ at this design!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment rather than sarcasm, Mr. Stamets,” Jett called out, crawling out of the tube as truth would to shame mankind, “hopefully the kids will, too. They’ve still got their environmental AI awareness on, by the way; I know Bobby in particular is gonna get his feelings hurt from that.”  
“Oh, well- I’ll be sure to extend my deepest apologies,” Stamets quipped with that stupidly furrowed, upwards-triangle brow of his. “Would you mind explaining to me what this is, anyway? The cultivation chamber’s readings are all off now because of… whatever _this_ is.”  
“Well I _was_ trying to tell you,” Jett crooned, peeling the upturned visor off her head as she prepared for her break, “but Ensign here informed me you’d gone off to your personal Cabana in there. Anyway, just make sure you seal off the tubes before you begin the xenon infusion with the mycelium; nearly lit myself on fire in there because of combustion.”  
“Oh my god are you ok--” Tilly rushed in, now noticing the slight singe on the end of Reno’s sleeve.  
“I am, yeah, thanks for asking,” the engineer assured as she looked back to Stamets, “will be even more once I get a confirmation you can do that protocol for me.”  
Stamets sighed through his nose, nodding. “Alright, fine. But let me know if you’re in there doing maintenance so I don’t seal _you_ by accident like a mole.”  
“Thaaank you much. Now, if ya don’t mind,” she huffed as she shed her harness of tools from her shoulder, “I’m going on break here in about 50 seconds with Ensign Tilly here. Think you can hold down the fort while we’re gone?”  
“Gonna have to, aren’t I?” Stamets insinuated, giving the two a begrudging eyeroll as he returned to his work station to fetch a mycelium canister. “If either of you bring me back a double shot, I’d be thankful.”  
“Any almond milk, sir?” Tilly asked.  
“Not today, thank you-”, a _ch-kunk_ echoed out of the wall where he removed an empty canister, “I need all the undiluted caffeine I can handle.”  
“See you after a while, blondie,” Reno called. “Oh and uh, by the way- mind cycling the kids for me so their filters don’t get too clogged? They can handle it till I get back, but I’d appre--”  
“I am _not_ touching that contraption of yours, Reno,” Stamets hollered with the wave of a hand as the doors to the cultivation chamber sealed behind him.

Jett cocked her head as she rolled her sleeves back down. “Too bad- he’s gonna get a cuckoo of a reminder whether he likes it or not.”  
“What did you do?”  
“It’s a little invention I like to call an ‘engineering-wide timer alarm,’” Reno smarmed. “The ‘invention’ part is that I figured out how to crack the volume cap he put in place. Now come on- I’m hankering for a raktajino right now.”  
“Rak-- a rakjawhat now?”  
“Klingon drink,” Reno alluded, “it’s like their version of coffee, but it’s got a little bloodwine to give it a punch.”  
“Is it good?”  
“I’ll let ya try a sip and see if you can call it that.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” Reno sighed as she gave a quick stretch in her mess hall seat, giving Tilly a wizened smirk as she leaned over her still-steaming raktajino. “Burnham, huh.”

“Yeah... yeah, I ah--”  
“Thanks for telling me beforehand so I didn’t have to wring it out of you like a towel.”  
“Ah, well, I- didn’t want to exactly make _you_ of all people play a guessing game, Commander.”  
“Mmm. Can’t say I’m not too surprised,” she alluded after a swig of her mug.  
Tilly winced. “Am I that obvious?”  
“Nah. ...I mean to _me,_ yeah; I might even say Stamets too, but guy’s got the romantic clarity right now of an Andorian with their antennae under a welding shield. But we’re not here to talk about _him_ ,” she continued, “we’re here to talk about _you_ and the heart eyes you have for our resident adrenaline-junkie Vulcan.”

Tilly gave a bashful smile at that phrasing. “She’s gonna make my last nerve fry someday, I just know it.”

“How long you known her?”  
“Oh gosh, it’s been… what, over a year now? Almost two?” Sylvia sighed, “so much has happened since the war, the war’s end, and now with this signal stuff it can feel like ages, but then you think about it and it hasn’t even been that long.”

“Crushes will do that to ya,” Reno admitted with the inklings of a smirk. “You feel like you barely scratched the surface with someone and then you think ‘Oh, hey, I’ve been talking to you for months now.’”

The ginger’s arms folded in on themselves at the table away from the espresso cup as she looked over the engineer. “Sounds like it comes from experience, Commander.”

And Reno returned Tilly’s gaze with a nostalgic glint in her gaze. “You bet. Long distance is almost a requirement in Starfleet at least some point in your career. Didn’t last too long, though- it was four months before she requested to be stationed on my first monolith class freighter.”  
Sylvia’s eyes widened. “Oh woah, and you’re an engineer, so were you one of those--”  
“Mhm,” Jett hummed. “Monoliths were beasts of freighters. Was always fun when those freshly-minted ensigns had their first field assignments for repairs; putting on those suits and getting out into open space like that… the drones are good, they’re the best help you can get, but sometimes you gotta get your hands dirty even in the vacuum of space.”  
“Was she- y-your wife, I mean- was she an engineer too?”  
“Nah- communications officer,” Reno recounted, “but she took an interest in it. Was a full-blown side specialist by the time we were on our final vessel together. Came in handy if they ever needed to fix some blown circuitry on the bridge or at her comms channel... figures that _she_ was the first to ask me out on one of our ‘tutoring sessions,’ huh?”

It then hit Jett that she was talking a _lot_ , and that Tilly looked pretty pleased about that fact.  
So that’s how it was gonna be, was it?  
Oh no no- this Ensign wasn’t getting off the hook _that_ easy.

So, with another swig of the caffeinated Klingon concoction, she looked the ginger over.

“You know,” Reno began, smacking her lips with a cocked brow and Tilly suddenly looking _very_ anxious at the knowing look in her eyes, “I’m realizing something. As much as I could go on and on about my wife, god rest her soul… I thought we were here to talk about _your_ romantic inclinations, Ensign.”

The engineer paused. “You afraid of telling _me_ something? Or just something in general? Or maybe it's 'cause this is the same mechanic who suggested trepanating your skull. Can see how that might be a factor.”

Tilly swallowed, suddenly looking very guilty and unfolding her arms just to fiddle with her hands as she mulled over her words.

“A… a lot,” Sylvia finally admitted. “Afraid of… ruining our friendship, that I’m gonna flub up when I finally _do_ get the guts to ask her out, _if_ I ever do, or just what she’d think of me as that person in her life, like-- _that_ kind of person, and… I don’t know, Reno. I've even talked to Owo and Detmer a little, Airiam too but she's been a little weird lately... I don’t want to ‘intrude’ because she means so much to me, especially now that her brother is here and she’s dealing with that, and I’m gonna end up crying right here and right now at even the thought of her hating me because I opened my big mouth.”

Reno allowed a pause to hang as she mulled over Tilly’s words. Here she was- one of the crustiest engineers that Discovery adopted in the ship’s still-infant age of barely two years old, sitting across from who had to be the nicest Ensign she’d ever crossed paths. It reminded Jett of the better days of her youth, the beginning days of Academy and first ventures out into the stars, of sweet summer days when her and Anoush were first dating and exploring the galaxy together on starships or freighters…

Tilly deserved happiness. Burnham deserved happiness.  
And she couldn’t think of two people more different to fill the opposite sides of their coins together in life and in love.

“You ever dated before?”

Tilly almost looked taken aback by the bluntness of her question. “Uhm. Kind of? Not… really- I’ve fancied people sometimes, but nothing long-term-- had some... friends with benefits, went out to parties with people...”  
Reno took another sip as she listened. “Bi, or...?”  
The redhead’s face was reddening faster, but she wasn’t as tense as before. “Only liked girls, so far. But who knows? Think I'm still figuring it out? I mean guys can be hot, but I’ve never, like- _lost_ it before like I have with girls, or… or Burnham, y’know--” Tilly cleared her throat, “I was-- a bit of a weird kid, I think my first crush was May and I think that’s why the Jah'Se--” 

“Mmm.” Reno noticed Tilly relaxing more in her seat. Thank god- her strategy of “de-serious’ing” the conversation was working. “Hook up in Academy at all?”  
“Sometimes before exams or parties, yeah--”  
“What dorms were you in.”  
“Phobos?”  
“Ayyy,” Reno chuckled, feeling herself give the widest smile she had in this whole conversation, “yeah, I remember my Phobos days. Somehow all the sapphics ended up in that building.”  
Tilly allowed a proud little grin to chip at her reservations. “You stayed there too?”  
“Class of ‘32,” Reno boasted, “I think the Phobos building was just 5 years old by that point.”  
“Oh my god my roomie and I had these people a floor above our dorm who would bone, like, _every Thursday,_ it was insufferable,” Tilly snorted.  
“Floors are still paper thin, then?”  
“Pathetically so- I couldn’t even work out in my own room without the RA coming to tell me to go to the gym.”

Jett grinned as Tilly ended her memories with a chuckle, watching the Ensign with a gentle glance.

“Well… you’ve got experience on the physical side of things, hung out with some of Starfleet’s best alumnis, ya work pretty damn well with Commander Burnham from what I see, you can handle  _Stamets_ when he's shitting the bed… so tell me- other than the whole… fear, thing- what’s stopping you?”

Tilly looked, again, at a loss for words, hands anxiously beginning to fiddle with the cup of espresso and turning away from her gaze. “I just… I--”

And almost comedic in its level of timing, a certain xenoanthropologist entered into the Mess Hall and was making a B-line for the synthesizer. Reno’s edge of her thin lips crooked up in a smirk and Tilly, opposite from the engineer, noticed her change in expression, eyes widening with must’ve been a dreaded realization at who must’ve been entering behind her.

“Commander, who… oh nonono if it’s her, don’t--”

“Burnham!” Reno called out, nodding her head after the woman and Tilly looking like she wanted to shrink into herself and die, “grab somethin’ and come sit with us, huh?”

For all its stuffy little scientists, Jett was growing fond of Discovery’s little crew, and even fonder of her shipmates’ little quirks- like Burnham’s trademark eyebrow raise and head tilt.  
She did notice, too, that Burnham’s smile seemed to spread a little wider when she saw Tilly sitting across from her, a truly beautiful grin miraculously cracking that Vulcan facade.

So, with a nod, Commander Burnham continued to trot to the replicator, Reno’s eyes returning to the Ensign as she heard a groan escape Tilly. “Reallyyyy, did you have to...” 

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire, kid,” Reno encouraged quietly. “Besides; seeing you with her gives me somethin’ to work with.”  
“What if she doesn’t wanna talk right nowww?”  
“Who said talking about anything serious? Doesn’t have to be life or death; what’s better than a good chat between a few Starfleet officers, huh.”

Tilly gave Jett a death glare before immediately perking up as Burnham approached, Burnham setting her mid-cycle tea on the table and taking a seat closer to the ginger.  
And from the look on Tilly’s face, she didn’t exactly mind Burnham cozying up towards her side of the table, that death glare washing away like a tide rolling out to a calming, Burnham-filled sea.

Burnham was the first to speak. “Engineering faring well for you both today?” 

Both Tilly and Reno gave a weak ‘ehhh’, to which Burnham quirked an eyebrow.

“Almost lit myself on fire,” Reno said with a shrug, “so about an average day for me.”  
“Yeah, and Commander Stamets has been in uh… less than stellar mood because of recent events, if you get my drift.”  
“With regards to the-- ohhh…”  
Tilly nodded along with a “Yeahhh…”  
“You told her about the Culber-Tyler fight?”  
When Tilly responded with a nod, Reno grunted in agreement. “Good _she_ told you. I’m finding word travels on this ship just as fast as its saucers spin.”

“Speaking of word, how’s your brother,” Tilly asked Burnham. “He’s doing ok? Settling in well?”  
“About as well as he can allow himself,” Reno watched the Commander sigh. “He came by today. First thing he does? Comments about my lack of _decor_ on my side of the room _._ ”  
“Yeah that sounds like a sibling reunion, all right,” Tilly tried to humor. “Did he say anything about my side at all, I gotta know--”

Reno barely kept it together so she didn’t choke on her drink. “You both share quarters?”  
And she _continued_ to barely keep it together as the two women’s faces hung open for a flicker of a moment, quickly settling into equal bashful smirks (though Tilly, behind and at Burnham’s side, was growing red in the ears again).

Didn't even need to move in together? Hell of a package deal.

“I simply had no need for quarters that spacious,” Burnham informed, and after a beat of a pause, added, “and sharing a quarters with Ensign Tilly helped me immensely in acclimating to Discovery when I first came aboard- when she was still a Cadet and I a specialist. It was… a difficult--”  
“You don’t have to explain it to me, Burnham,” Reno stopped her, giving an assuring shake of the head. “From what it sounds like, you’ve got a great roommate; and trust me, after decades of Starfleet? That can be hard to come by.”  
“Yes,” Burnham agreed, nodding to Reno. “Yes, you’re very right.”

Tilly shot Jett a look that made it seem as if she was a bomb about to go off out of powered by pure joy and elation.

“And speaking of siblings,” Burnham picked up, noticing Tilly’s expression and her own eyes brightening, “Your sister didn’t call again to pester you about your progress in the Command Training Program while I was gone, did she?”  
“ _Tried_ to,” Tilly sighed, picking up her composure, “but I am _not_ about to pick up a subspace transmission voicemail now that we’re on the run as _fugitives_ , thank you very much.”  
“Mmm. Well, if she tries to, inform her that she can speak to _me_ about it; I will be _very_ happy to give you glowing commendations. ...As much, as I suspect, Commander Saru would as well,” Burnham added after a small pause (almost as if realizing what she had just said).

And was that a blush Reno began to see on the Commander’s cheeks?

“Oh gosh really, you don’t have to,” Tilly giggled, “you already had to talk to my mom that one time- I still need to chat with _your_ mom. Maybe even your dad sometime.”  
Reno couldn’t help but smirk when Burnham gave a snort and slight shake of the head. “Please- Amanda and I already have a hard enough time conversing with Sarek; he has a skull thicker than his old pet Sehlat.”  
“Oh, shit- your family had one of those dog bears?” Jett mused.  
Burnham nodded. “A big, sweet thing, I-Chaya... he was unfortunately bitten by one of the local predatory Le-Matyas, so he passed about five years after I arrived.”  
“Dad took me on a science mission one time and we stopped to see an adoption center for them on Vulcan, they’re so cute,” Tilly gushed.  
“If you still want to go on Shore Leave with me next time we’re by Vulcan, I can show you one that was near where we lived. Amanda would occasionally take Spock and I after I-Chaya passed.”  
“Um, yes please?” Tilly asked excitedly, “You keep saying things about Vulcan, at this point we gotta get a list going of where we’re visiting--” 

Oh my god.  
These two were _disgustingly_ cute.

Reno zoned out for a bit until the Commander gave a peculiar look at her mug. “May I ask what you’re drinking?”  
“Raktajino,” Jett told in a faux toast. “Does wonders for energy levels.”  
“I was unaware that the replicators could even _make_ Klingon drinks of that caliber.”  
“Keep your enemies close and their choice of caffeination closer,” Reno offered, then nodded to her mug. “Wanna try a sip? Ensign here tried some and I thought she was gonna curl up like a pill bug.”  
“Gimme like… three more doses, and I’d get used to it," Tilly tried to interject.

Burnham pursed her lips, looking between Reno, the mug, and Tilly.  
She reached out without a word, holding it with both hands as she took a small drink.

Reno watched with anticipation.  
Burnham finally took the sip.

And she nearly spit it back out with a squirm of her shoulders and a scrunch of the face, Tilly laughing at her side as she watched the revolted woman with absolute stars in her eyes.

“Oh. Eugh. No. No,” Burnhan grimaced, offering the mug back to Reno as Tilly put a patting hand to her back, “no thank you--”  
“I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen you not-like something that hard,” Tilly humored. “You ok?”  
“Bluh, yes, just--” Burnham reached for a sip of her Vulcan tea, “augh… there we are. Okay, better.”  
“Kinda like… if you poured sangria into a burnt espresso and combined it with whiskey, in my opinion, whatd’ya think--”  
“I don’t have enough of experience nor reference to judge by those parameters, but I’ll take your word for it, Tilly.”  
“I think you’d like sangria- whiskey maybe not so much.”  
“You never know. ...Commander Reno?”

Even after Burnham said her name, it took Jett a moment to bring herself back from space after watching the two. A familiar nostalgia had washed over her observing Burnham and Tilly, a bittersweet heaviness that filled her crusty chest and stoked old embers that slept under the skin and were buried deep in her heart. Sweet memories of her and Anoush trying stupidly-named drinks in their freighters’ mess halls, nights spent into the wee hours of day cycles talking about plans for Shore Leave, talking about little nothings during their shifts and watching the stars out the viewport windows from their quarters’ windows...

Maybe it was a little selfish, her projecting like this- hoping that, one day, Burnham and Tilly could know that same kind of joy her and Anoush had. That they could stop beating around this bush that they hid behind out of politeness and decency and just… tell each other. Save all this uncertainty and heartache and pining and just _tell_ one another before time played its inevitable, sometimes cruel hand. But Reno could see this was nothing to push on her end; these were both women that needed (and deserved) to take the time to savor one another like a fine wine. For both of their presences were so strong, so radiant and infectious and special in their own unique ways… she couldn’t help but have some residual hope.

“Guh, sorry Burnham, zoned out there a bit,” Jett tried to play off with a shake of her head and wave of the hand. “Guess I was thinking about nearly catching on fire again.”  
“You ok?” Tilly asked.  
“Yeah…” Jett nodded. “I’m... really good, actually. Thank you, Ensign. Listen I’m, uh… I think I’m gonna head back actually to Engineering early,” she decided, knocking back the rest of the raktajino and standing with the empty cup in hand. “Stamets is already pissy enough, and I know that alarm going off might actually be the last straw with him. I’ll go on and bring him that espresso he wanted, alright?” 

At first, she saw Tilly’s eyes look to her as if Reno were abandoning her partner in crime, but Tilly paused, the Ensign’s natural empathy kicking in… and she lowered her head with a smile, Tilly allowing herself to relax in the seat as Burnham still watched Reno with intrigue.

“Thank you, Jett.”  
“No problem. See you later, Burnham.”

Reno didn’t hear too much of the conversation after taking her mug back to the synthesizer and asking the computer for Stamets’ drink. Over the white noise of the mess hall, she caught wind of “shore leave” again, something to do with “what’s it like to hug a sehlat,” Burnham’s quiet chuckle that was so clear and poignant it even rang out over the dull chatter, little things along those lines… and even as Jett passed their proximity to head out of the eatery, she heard Tilly tell Commander Burnham that she “wouldn’t have anyone else be her tour guide.”

So, halfway back to engineering, she paused to lean against an arch in the hall, fetching her personal PADD out of her pocket while she typed with one hand and an espresso in the other.

TXT: <y _ou have nothin to be afraid of, Sylvia. 👍 > _


	4. spock POV || i could use some advice...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby brother to the (kind of?) emotional rescue and listening to his sister's crush.  
> (Takes place after the end of 2x11)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I UPDATED !!! GOD !!! FINALLY !!! || this took forever b/c writing for spock is Hard but Engaging and I wanted to make this good || i'm sorry i have no idea how the fuck to play chess || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

Much had happened.  
Much had transpired.

And much more, it seemed, had been ripped away before it all could be said. 

Commander Airiam had been allowed a funeral by Captain Pike and Admiral Cornwell, Michael nearly dying from exposure on Essof IV, the Red Angel captured, Gabrielle Burnham subsequently let go, the reason behind her departure revealed by the Section 31 leader Leland-turned-Control, the Section 31 agent nearly dead…

Not much had been said.   
But much had been seen.

And Lieutenant Spock realized that, for all that had happened, perhaps he _could_ speak, separated by the glass chess pieces that interrupted their vision. 

His sister’s eyes were heavy.

It was this train of thought that had led Spock to sit across from Michael Burnham, restarting the game of 3D Chess that he had, admittedly (pettily, childishly), ended a short time ago on his own accord. The game was a good method of realigning their states of cognitive flow, they’d discovered as children, and it had been a preferred pastime alongside Spock’s lute playing and Michael’s engrossment in her reading and writing. When both had some sort of petty disagreement in their household, Mother was usually the first to recommend the board game to attempt to end their illogical squabbles. Logic, she had told Spock, could be a wise teacher, but also a friend.

Ever since he had roused Michael from a tear-soaked pillow and offered her “the board is yours” as an invitation, they had been in amiable silence for the past five minutes and 42 seconds as their game began. Michael took her usual route of an offensive initiative, it seems, Spock settling into a mode of deduction as he attempted to predict her next move. But there was a slowness to her decisions in this round; whereas she was typically fast, calculative, and nearly stubborn in her refusal to yield, each piece moved gracefully and slowly as if pondering its own fate.

Was this a new strategy?  
Or merely a reflection of current circumstances.

“You have a new technique, it seems,” Spock finally said. “You have been practicing.”   
“Every now and then,” Michael admitted, shrugging her head towards the closet. “I don’t keep that board in my closet for nostalgic decoration. And Ensign Tilly makes for a good rival.”  
Spock offered an eyebrow. “I overheard her in the Mess Hall discussing with Lieutenant Detmer kadis-kot game arrangements.”   
“She can play two different games,” Michael alluded with a small, tired grin. “And so can I.” 

Spock was quiet.   
Her eyes were still bleary. 

He began debating on whether or not it was the logical choice for him to have come this soon. “You--” 

Just then, the ping of the front door chimed and Michael near whipped around in her seat. Spock immediately followed her gaze and, realizing this must be someone important considering no authorization was needed, he w-- Ensign Tilly. 

Of course. She would not need authorization considering she and Michael--

Spock’s eyebrow raised, suddenly, when he noticed Ensign Tilly had been crying, and she and Michael were meeting in the middle for a tight embrace. 

And Spock’s head lowered. 

The Ensign’s red hair seemed to envelop Michael in that hug, Tilly’s hair tumbling in from over her shoulders as she hugged the other woman quite tightly. Her mascara had seemed to be running, bleary eyes,face red… it was obvious this had just begun, perhaps as she was approaching their shared quarters. Spock heard Michael give her own shuddering breath and, watching the Ensign’s hands tighten around his sister, regarded this moment in silent musing.

If he were more schooled in Vulcan metaphysics, he might even say it reminded him of the bond required to interchange katra.

“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t come by the transporter room when you left Essof IV, I had to make sure some of the tethering equipment didn’t cause a feedback loop when it collapsed and I--”   
“It’s okay,” Michael assured her in that hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”   
“W-we’re already scanning for your mom, just in case we can do _anything_ \--” Tilly stammered. “The Commanders are in overdrive right now seeing if we can interact with the tachyon particle remnants, you should hear them both--”   
“Thank you… I can be down there if you need help--”   
“Michael Burnham, absolutely not,” Tilly told her with a light laugh, wiping at her eye after finally breaking the hug. “You need to… rest. At least like, five minutes. Five hours if it were up to me, but.”

Tilly offered Michael a reserved grin. “I was gonna say ‘I wish I could’ve met her now,’ but if anything it just makes me more excited to meet her again. ...Because we're definitely gonna find her, if you catch my hopefully-rubbing-off-on-you-hopeful drift.”   

Empathy was a powerful capability across multiple species, Spock knew.   
But to see his sister be able to _receive_ it…   
He _could_ have thought of a word to describe it, but the emotional investment would be far too laborious. 

If a bit morose, given the circumstances. 

So he turned his gaze and head away from Ensign Tilly, allowing them the privacy of a shared moment. 

“I… I gotta get back with Reno and Stamets,” Tilly murmured after a hard sniff, “but I had to come check on you, make sure you were _somewhat_ okay. I couldn’t--” 

“For the most part, yeah,” he heard Michael utter. “Thank you, Tilly. I’m… a little bit better now, actually.”   
“You’re not just saying that?” 

Michael gave an incredulous grin. “Promise. ...You have a talent for making things a little better- you know what.” 

That was uncharacteristic of Michael. Spock raised an eyebrow and his eyes glanced to his sister, fingers still steepled together. Tilly seemed to notice his gesture and, turning her glance to both him and, subsequently, their game, her eyes began to dart in between him and Michael.

“Oh geez, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I…” she paused to grow a wry smile as Tilly examined the board more (including the amount of pieces on Michael’s side of the table), “Iiiii can see you’re clearly in an advantage, here. Don’t mind me- I’ll just be here to give you a chance to restrategize, Lieutenant sir.” 

“Oh, he’s gonna need all the help he can get,” Michael agreed. “I’ll send you a message on your PADD once we’re done, Tilly. Tea? Coffee later?” 

“That sounds good, honestly,” she agreed, wiping at the remnants of her tears. “I’m just… glad you’re alright.”   
Michael firmed her lower lip. “Not all the way, but… like I said. You have a habit of knowing right when to come by.”  

Spock simply sat there incredulous as he noticed the Ensign’s ears light up in sudden flush and his sister hold a smile for far longer than she normally would.

“Thanks. And ah, thank _you_ , Lieutenant--” Tilly called to him with a polite hand wave and little salute, “Spock, sir--” 

And as the red-haired ensign left the room and Michael watching as if secretly wishing to follow her, Spock formulated a conclusion.

Michael sat down again and tried to focus on the game at hand.

He stared at his sister.  
She wasn’t going to discuss this with him?  
This must be discussed. 

Michael drew her head up from the board, eyes darting between his pieces and his face.

“...It’s… your turn, brothe--”   
“I am well aware, Michael,” Spock interrupted, readjusting his gaze as he collected his thoughts. “I am simply processing and waiting to see as to whether or not we will discuss that socialization just now.” 

Spock watched Michael’s eyes widen and her head lean in. “‘Discuss?’”

“Yes.” He moved a pawn forward and to the left. “Discuss.” 

Michael rolled her tongue against her cheek (a habit she’d had even as a child when slightly irritated), squinting as she considered both the board and, what Spock assumed, him.

He measured her time of exclusionary silence at 34 seconds. 

“Your hesitancy in speech leads me to believe that you do not _want_ to discuss this with me,” he concluded.

And he watched as Michael’s eyes fall. 

“It’s not that,” his sister offered, a hand going to rub at her temple, “I simply… I don’t know where I would start, Spock.” 

Spock regarded Michael’s words carefully. 

“Our recent escapades with the fluid nature of time _have_ lent us unique perspectives on how to approach problems, Michael,” he offered gently, “but occasionally, the most simple solution is often the one most overlooked. Perhaps, ‘starting from the beginning...’ would prove the most effective for you.” 

His sister’s eyes locked onto his.   
And although he could not, _would_ not, allow himself to return the gesture, Spock watched his sister allow her lips to ebb into a small smile. 

Michael moved a pawn up a level. “All I ask is that you do not discuss this with Mother or Father.”   
“I had no _intent_ to do such unless the situation threatened your life… which, from _my_ observance,” Spock noted, “ _she,_ clearly, does not. In fact, improves it.”  
Michael nodded. “I’m that obvious, huh.”   
“To the untrained and unfamiliar eye, perhaps,” he pointed out. “But not to one such as myself. Logic dictates that the repeated observation of patterns--”  
“‘That form consistent results can lead to a proven hypothesis,” Michael finished for him. “Fine, brother. What instances do you see as most relevant to your hypothesis?”

“Her intrusion into Captain Pike’s Ready Room, most prominently,” he started unceremoniously. “Her attempt to gauge your reaction of how you would respond to the revelation of the Red Angel’s true nature was the first inkling, but I said nothing.” 

Spock continued to ponder the board. “Recently was this socialization just now. She has, as you would put it, ‘drawn you out of a comfort zone,’ moreso than I am familiar to witnessing. There have been other, smaller instances- Lieutenant Commander Airiam’s funeral, her vocal reactions that I heard with regards to your presence and near death on Essof IV, as well as...”

Spock moved a piece as he tried to formulate the words, process the context behind his next statement, feeling Michael’s eyes on him as if she expected him to immediately continue.

“‘As well as?’”

“Ensign Tilly attended to you every day you were recovering in Sickbay from Essof IV’s atmosphere, Michael. Every shift, she either requested status updates from Doctor Pollard and Doctor Culber, or would request eyewitness accounts from me as to your progress. She would also visit you after completed work hours and inform you of her tasks during the day, as well as inform you of her personal accomplishments and other social interactions between Lieutenant Commander Stamets and Commander Reno. She even took your hand multiple times,” Spock told Michael, “an action that I informed her, once, was ‘illogical,’ as you would not be able to sense the gesture in your state, but she... ‘reprimanded’ me and told me that it, at least, and I quote, ‘made her--’”

“Feel better,” Michael finished for him, the Vulcan drawing his gaze from the board with a quirked brow at the tenseness in her voice. “Because it made her feel better. Hand holding, it’s… something we do a lot.”

Spock watched his sister’s fingers absently rub together as her head was downcast. 

“Something similar, yes.”

Another pause hung between them.

“I can’t… help but sense,” Michael began, “that we’re getting closer to whatever this is, Spock. How this all ties together.” 

“We do seem to be approaching a terminal velocity of some sort with the fate of sentient life _and_ Control’s sapience, but I do not see what that has to do with my indications of yours and Ensign Tilly’s interactions.”

“Mmm, I’m-- getting there, I...” she looked back up to him, her eyes thin and shaking her head, “...what other time am I gonna get, if we _do_ fail? Or something… something happens to either of us that, even if we _do_ succeed, I’m not gonna get a chance to spend a timeline with her? Properly? Or I just don’t at least… tell her? Tell her so I could live my last amount of life truthfully? Spend it with someone important, or at least knowing that everything was out in the open? ...Or else I lose it all from regret? Or I tell her, and it doesn’t go the way I want or hope it will, and I ruin what I have with her already?”

Spock swallowed. 

“That is not something I cannot answer for you, Michael,” he expressed. 

And the Vulcan regarded his next words very carefully. 

“...And in a personal sense of expression, I realize now that you and I are… _were_ , in a similar situation.” 

Michael looked to him with wide eyes. 

“If the worst does come to pass, when we either succeed _or_ fail, it would have been… undesirable, should I not have been able to spend time with people I wish to be with. ...That I wished to repair relations with.”

And Michael’s widened eyes relaxed into a smile that he’d not seen in full innocence since their childhood.

“I _will_ recommend, however, that you begin discussion about this sooner rather than later,” Spock continued on, “though considering the nature of time’s relation to... ‘timing’ for us so far, I must conclude that, by your consent, pieces will fall into place.”

Michael’s lips firmed. “I’ll make sure they do.”

“I will be impressed if they do not.” 

Spock paused.

“I _have_ observed you staring at Ensign Tilly in far more of a ‘gazing’ manner than you do others when you are in close proximity of each other,” he noted. “Either you will have to initiate conversation, or someone else will eventually initiate it for you.”

Michael’s ability to keep her uncontrollable human flush as an “expressive side note” as compared to the rest of her face was commendable. 

But she still smirked. 

Her eyes seemed to wander somewhere else. “Do you remember,” his sister began, the tone in her voice indicating she was about to tell a story or some long-winded metaphor, “when we went to Starfleet Headquarters for my initial acceptance of transfer?”

“Yes.” 

Michael did not seem to like how curtly he said that. 

So she rolled her eyes and continued. “When we went together- Mother requesting to visit with some Federation ambassadors, Father off to the staff coordinator’s building… and you and I were greeted by that tour guide? Right in front of where the sun was hitting the Golden Gate? Informing us of the schedule, the different shuttles that were docked and ready to head back up to the various starships at the Starbase port above us…” Michael’s grin grew, “and how _I_ saw you could _not_ keep your eyes off that certain cadet playing frisbee on the lawn behind him...”

Spock felt his face even out.  
“Human guy, kind of bookish looking~”  
His lips threatened to squirm.  
“Blonde, a little sweaty~--” 

Michael...

Spock felt his skin bristle while he moved his knight. "I do not see the relevance of that superfluous event to our discussion." 

"No?" Michael took a sip of her water as she pondered the board. "Or you don't _want_ to see it." 

"You are bisexual, Michael. I fail to see how bringing up my homosexuality- considering I _have_ no current significant other- as opposed to your _current_ attraction to Sylvia Tilly in both a physical and emotional sense, can be subverted from our conversation."

"Call it... relatability, Spock. 'Empathy,' even, between siblings," Michael offered back, her lips tightening as a blush crept across her cheeks at the mention of the Ensign's name again. "...Father spoke of it to me long before you boarded Discovery, actually."

_Empathy._

The bristling sensation returned. "At the moment, I do not care much for what our father has in either advice, nor in regards towards his opinions of me." 

"Fair." 

Chess continued for the next half minute in silence. 

"He _was_ a looker, though." 

And the Vulcan felt his head tilt ever the slightest- though he was not certain if it was at the game, or at his sister. 

"Perhaps. But not ‘quite my type,’ as my latter investigations revealed." 

Michael returned the head tilt with a small (albeit very human) grin. "Well. I'd be interested to see what 'your type' is one day, Spock."


	5. stamets POV || i'm just gonna come out and say it...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you need a bit of a middleman to relay some things.  
> It just so happens that this middleman happens to be an astromycologist on the run from an AI who's got his own relationship problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER LET'S GO || you want some gangst??? take this gay angst mmm nyum nyum nyum || i love stamets he might have a stick up his ass but he has his moments || dirt lesbian offers her own wisdom too || last chapter will also have some more detmer/owosekun stuff but here's the windup before the bigass pitch || thanks @fyeahjola and @drawingleander on twitter for ensign names || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

“I love you.”

 _Never a melodramatic moment with Commander Burnham_ , Paul Stamets thought. 

There were plenty of people on the bridge she was probably referring to with that comment. If this was ever a time to pour out a heart to a crew waiting with bated breath, this was it, and Burnham had her audience. Her brother of course, that much was obvious; Detmer, Saru- the time she’d spent with them both on the Shenzhou _and_ Discovery, the--

Michael began to nod.  
And her eyes, glancing and meeting with so many others on the bridge, finally locked with his. 

“All of you.” 

_Oh._

Stamets felt his chest constrict and his brow knit upward at the wavering notes in her voice. 

“Thank you for some of the greatest moments of my life.” 

Ship’s name metaphor aside, in the blink of an eye Paul began to think of his own greatest moments aboard Discovery. Realizing this ship’s specs worked when Straal’s theories aboard the Glenn (universe rest his soul) had been cut cruelly short, seeing the universe through new tardigrade-altered eyes that words could never explain, interacting with the mycelia and standing before Starfleet Headquarters with a Medal of Honor… 

But business aside, what were the personal, he mused? What were _his_ greatest moments, outside of his career in Starfleet? As much as it hurt now, someone resurrected by the Network itself? Forming a tight-knit team in Engineering that rivaled his researchers on Alpha Centauri? Even down to everything, everything with this crew- even miniscule memories like seeing the light in Ensign Tilly’s eyes upon realizing she _wasn’t_ going to be immediately removed from the CTP when she said ‘how fucking cool’ this all was with Burnham at his side...

It was then, Paul realized, that someone very important to Michael Burnham was missing from this bridge-specific declaration.

Tilly.

_Oh no._

Either there was going to be a ship-wide debriefing of the plan that would soften the blow, or he was about to deliver the worst news ever to his favorite Ensign. 

It would be a horrible (if much needed) distraction. So long as he didn’t have to think about _him_ right now. 

Not that he didn’t want to. 

But God, oh God save him, he just couldn’t bear the thought of Hugh right now.

Jobs were assigned and Paul knew what he had to do in order to prepare for the Xahean technology, both him and Burnham proceeding to the turbolift’s doors as the door’s shut to a stunned, shellshocked bridge.

“Deck 4.”

Stamets let the turbolift carry them in silence for a moment. 

“That was very... _touching_ what you said up there,” he finally began. 

“Thank you,” Michael spoke in a quieter voice than normal. “I meant it.” 

“I know you do.” 

Another beat of silence. 

“...Are you… really alright with thi--” 

“I don’t particularly have a choice in the matter, do I?” She interrupted. “Either we complete the suit and I take Discovery into the future with me, or all sentient life is extinguished and we lose my mother’s fight and the galaxy as we know it forever.” 

“I know the risks, Burnham,” Paul reminded with no hint of chide in his voice. “What I’m asking is if _you’re_ alright with this. I don’t know about _you_ , but I’m still a little shaken from nearly watching the ship explode from a viewport aboard the Enterprise. And I’m not too thrilled about leaving an entire ship, a crew like this again...” 

She turned around to face him now, pain evident in her eyes and perhaps wishing he’d stop twisting that knife.

Paul offered a wistful grin. “All I’m saying is that I am _not_ looking forward to being there when Tilly finds out.” 

The sudden drop of composure in her expression surprised Paul. 

Her jaw grew tight and lips even tighter, insisting to only look at the door and almost waiting for it to open so she could bolt out. 

“Please tell her for me yourself. I will talk with her later when there comes a time. A goodbye like that, _to_ someone like Sylvia, I need it to be...”

“Wh--”

“She needs to hear this from someone who cares about her. Who can make sure she succeeds when I’m gone.”

And true to Stamets’ predictions, as soon as they hit Deck 4, Burnham hurriedly trotted out of the turbolift, Paul following right along after her. “Burnham--”

She kept walking.   
And he kept following. 

“Burnham, you--!” 

Paul took a breath in once she had stopped and realized he wasn’t going to stop following her, slowing himself with an outstretched hand. 

“At least talk to Sylvia.” The gentleness in his voice shocked even him- Paul rarely used the Ensign’s first name in casual conversation. “She needs to hear this from _you_. I--” 

“Need to ensure each other’s prosperity and happiness,” Michael finished for him, watching her lips wrap in on themselves. “I can’t… If she has a chance at living a full life- being in Starfleet, assisting in your research, becoming captain, whatever the future holds for her… I can at _least_ make sure she lives to see it. Whether I’m with her or not.” 

Michael looked at Paul with those wide, begging eyes of hers. “Please. Do this for me. I need our goodbye to be… something more to her than just a debriefing.”

Paul chose his next words carefully. 

Damn her. Damn her, her big heart, and her martyr complex.

“What you said on the bridge…” 

He paused. “Do you love her too, Commander?” 

The sincerity in Paul’s voice rendered Michael speechless.

So she nodded through closed eyes and a wriggling mouth on the verge of tears. 

Paul knew it.

And it pained his heart all the more.

“Enough to make sure she has a chance to find love after I’m gone. Now please--”

“As long as you promise me you’ll talk to her. Soon. Truthfully.”

“I will. ...I haven’t forgotten what you told me. It is a hard lesson to apply, but… I don’t think I will _ever_ forget it.” 

And Paul remembered, all those days and nights ago, when they slow danced in the middle of a hallway, before Harry Mudd set the ship alight for the 40th time. 

_Never hide who you are._

And Michael trotted off without him, Paul watching her with remorse painted on his face while his hands idly opened and closed.

Maybe _he_ should talk to someone too and not hide? 

A certain doctor he’d been avoiding, wanting so desperately to look at on the bridge just now?

No.  
Maybe?   
No.   
Yes.  
This wasn’t about him right now.  
Not about Hugh. Not about himself.

God, Hugh. 

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

The slog back to Engineering was one of the longest walks Paul Stamets had recalled in recent memory. Each footfall felt like lead as he looked to each archway, each door, and each corridor, lost in endless halls and endless circular conjunctions. The blueprints for Discovery were, by this point, burned into his brain, Paul remembering his first proposal to Starfleet for the initial draftings of the Crossfield class. 

Only a short time ago, Discovery’s crew had evacuated the ship, fully expecting the pain to burst and ache in their chests equivalent to the photon torpedoes that were supposed to obliterate the weathered vessel. 

But she wasn’t obliterated. 

He’d watched with confusion aboard the Enterprise as Discovery’s shields deflected the torpedoes, watching Discovery’s core crew experience all sorts of emotional gamits. Lieutenants Detmer and Owosekun- two helmswomen holding each other and wracked with disbelief _and_ relief that their ship was still there, Reno looking quite smug and proud of the fact that “this girl’s got guts,” Rhys desperately trying to remember whether the shields activating was _his_ fault and Bryce looking dumbstruck while Tilly and Nisson hugged each other upon the announcement they were going back to the ship…

She was here.

Against all odds, Discovery was still here. 

So was her crew. For the most part.

And here, at the end of it all (yet at the start of something new, some _where_ new, some _time_ new for her), Paul was just… supposed to let Discovery go? It and everyone aboard her? Let everything he’d worked for, everything he’d accomplished, all these people and all his scientific pursuits; was he really alright with just saying goodbye while Commander Burnham flew off into the unknown? 

His steps slowed as he came towards Engineering, standing before the double sliding doors that held Discovery’s warp core, spore drive, the cultivation chamber... 

The bridge may have been the brains, but this was where her heart was. 

Paul’s faint eyebrows grew wistful as he pondered the doorway, ensigns and Junior Lieutenants gliding past his stationary self. 

He knew by memory what he’d see in there, and what would greet him on the other side. 

The steps that overlooked the chasm that led to the warp core’s catwalk, resembling an otherworldly sunset that powered Discovery’s nacelles towards those very horizons.   
The spore drive. A machine, an interface, and an invention he’d become irreversibly bound to in all mind, body, soul. A right and proper “life’s work,” all boiled down to a cube inside a starship. An engine he melded himself with to save not only Discovery, but the war, Ripper, everyone aboard the ship, to save…

Paul swallowed at the memory of a man.

Like he thought. Everyone aboard the ship.   
His implants itched and his mouth went dry.

_Think about something else._

The cultivation chamber. Oh, the sleepless nights he’d spent in there- how Straal gave him such shit about planning, what Reno now called, a “greenhouse” aboard a starship, and how it’d led to becoming one of Discovery’s most beautiful internal fixtures. The rows and knowledge of the spore aisles all by heart, taking samples when he couldn’t sleep and the familiar white noise of chittering spores, lugging his argon-xenon canisters down the rows like some sort of oldschool farmer ready to pick his crops…

Hm. All Paul would need was a tacky sunhat, Tilly lugging a wheelbarrow behind him, Burnham taking notes of an unusual bloom, Ensigns M’Triss and Dorotea pruning a particular strand of stalk… maybe Reno walking a tardigrade on a leash.

_“I love you.”_

He thought of Michael, perhaps, getting the chance to say that to Tilly someday.

The imaginations made him smile some. 

_“All of you.”_

His jaw wobbled. 

And that was when Paul Stamets decided that he couldn’t let it go.

 

* * *

 

 

“Tilly, I um…” 

His lips wrapped inwards, leveling himself before he broke the Ensign’s heart. 

He almost wished he’d stayed on  the other side of those doors. Watching her read his face, that normally so-happy-it-was-near-impossible smile trying to fight off whatever doubt tried to creep at her…

God, if _he_ had to do this, how the hell was _Michael_ going to?

“Burnham has to take the ship to the future. Alone. Discovery will stay there.” 

“Oh I know that sir, I was there when Po and Reno deduced it,” she assured him. “She actually made a really good analogy for it with waterfalls, I--” 

“There’s no other way. ...She’s not _doing_ it another way, because we don’t have the time to find an alternative. ...So Michael’s staying in the future with the ship.” 

There it was. 

While Stamets didn’t believe it was possible for Tilly to reach the ‘anger’ level of the five stages of grief, he watched her eyes widen and her lips try and form into a playful grin, as if the universe was playing a cruel, god-awful joke on her.

“Wh… what do you mean, she can’t… she can’t just-- take this big honking thing with her and-- have it be empty, by herself! I--” now her words grew more choked, Stamets watching Reno pause her work in the corner, “...alone!? Almost a thousand years into the future? And… and there’s no other way she--” 

“I was at the finalization,” Reno chimed in, setting aside her torch as she rose to her feet. “Once Po brings in that reactor, that’ll begin the energy cascade. A ship-wide evac’ll start up once we can get crew off the ship either by transport or shuttle, and let autopilot follow behind Burnham through the wormhole. We’ll see what comes first, considering the bloodthirsty AI that’s on our trail.”

Tilly nodded, though her jaw clenched some at a realization. “Reno why didn’t you--” 

Because _I_ volunteered to tell you,” Stamets told her, “the debriefing on the bridge just happened, and the announcement is trickling down to the rest of the crew. Also because... I don’t think any of us like this any more than you do. And _also_ because,” he paused, “Commander Burnham asked me to. She said she just- couldn’t right now. And I quote: ‘her goodbye needed to be something more to you.’”

Her reddening eyes creased even more. “She… she asked you? To tell me? Specifically? W-what did she say on the bridge?”

Paul knew that look on her face better than he’d like to admit. 

So he thought he’d test the waters.

“How specific do you want me to be?”

“E-everything, down to the last word-”

His eyes flashed to Reno.

She tossed him her usual “do it if you’re gonna, Blondie” look, which earned a huff out of Paul’s nose and a firming of his jaw.

“Burnham said… ‘Thank you for the greatest moments of my life. I love you. All of you.’ ...And she told me that very much included you, Tilly. ...If not even more, because she was willing to do this so that you’d have the chance to know love after she was gone.”

Tilly couldn’t anymore. 

So, with a wibbling jaw, her arms wrapped around herself and she looked anxiously at the floor, shutting her eyes as Tilly tried desperately to collect herself. Paul had suspected something for a while- the kinship they formed during Michael’s first weeks here, seeing how desperately the Commander needed to know if Tilly was okay after pulling her from the fungus, Michael volunteering to venture into the network to find her, the way Tilly always spoke so admiringly of Burnham and the looks they exchanged…

He’d known without it ever being said.

And that, perhaps, broke his heart even more. 

Paul set his hand gingerly on the Ensign’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as she screwed her eyes shut. “Tilly…”  

“Do you _like this,_ Commander?” she asked, giving a hard sniff and wipe of a hand across her face. “Are you honestly okay with this? This… is this how we end it with Disco? Just jump ship and expect Michael to carry her off? We already had to almost watch it explode from the Enterprise, like _that_ wasn’t hard enough already, and…” 

Paul watched Tilly’s eyes rove back and forth, suddenly shaking her head and standing up with a newfound strength. 

She had a look on that, under any other occasion, would fill Paul with an overwhelming sense of secondhand pride.

“Captains go down with their ship, right? That’s how it usually goes,” Tilly started. “And if I’m gonna be a captain one day, no matter _where_ that is by place, or time or, _wherever_ … I’m not abandoning ship like this. I’m not abandoning Michael. Not now. Not when we’ve been through so much with Discovery. Not when… not when I’ve been through so much with you both, my friends, my shipmates... Not when Michael, not when I haven’t...”

Paul waited for Tilly to finish that sentence, but a glance to Reno hinted at him that she had a bit more expanded wisdom.

So he and Reno were locked in place, giving Tilly the respect she deserved with this declaration. “I’ve seen… the wonders of the galaxy on this ship. I’ve been to new planets, different dimensions, a fungal _paradise,_ seen a man resurrected _from_ said mushroom nirvana, survived probably the world’s shittiest captain, interacted with thousands of years worth of history given to us by a screaming orb in space… and if that’s just a slice of what Discovery has to offer? ...Fuck it. Fuck it!” Tilly laughed, Reno giving a tired grin at the swearing. “I wanna see what more there is. ...Both in Discovery’s namesake, and just. Discovery.” She nodded with a renewed, if tired smile. “In general. Like a metaphor. ...I’m not letting Michael Burnham have all the fun.”

Paul remembered the pain in Tilly’s eyes when she confessed she didn’t want him to go upon his admittance to the Vulcan Science Academy. 

And before he could say or decide anything worthwhile, the grease monkey began unceremoniously cracking her neck.

Reno straightened her back with a “Well” and a grunt, setting her hands on her hips as she looked over the Ensign with, what looked to be, a proud smirk and new resolve. “My old ship’s crunched up by an asteroid roasting in a pulsar, and my wife’s memorial was built to last at _least_ 1,000 years. Someone needs to make sure they know how to use wrenches a millennia from now.”

Tilly’s mouth opened some, “Oh gosh Reno you--” 

“I meant what I said. I don’t have much here anymore. This baby picked me up of a crumbling dirt ball and it’s been a helluva ride ever since. ...Kinda wanna see what else there could be.” 

Paul thought of himself at the doorway only minutes beforehand. 

And his mind, his resolve, was made up. 

“Seems the spirit of Discovery is infectious, then,” Paul said with a touch of grace, Reno rolling her eyes with an unamused ‘ugh.’ “And we’ll need _someone_ to operate that Spore Drive on the other side, won’t we?”

“Oh thank God- even in the future I ain’t touchin’ that cube with a 3 meter pole.” 

Good fucking Lord, he was going to the future with _her._

Any animosity that may have been stewing was suddenly wiped away by Tilly hugging them both at their sides, Reno and himself going limp in her grateful embrace and she gave another hard sniff.

“Then let’s get ready for Po to bring her equipment in, yeah?” TIlly offered. “I--” 

“Tilly-!” Nilsson burst in through Engineering’s main entrance, practically flying down the stairs with some lab ensigns in tow (most likely fresh out of the debriefing). “I just? Heard Commander Burnham’s going to the future by herself? I--” 

“No she’s not,” Tilly corrected with a shake of her head, Paul feeling a melancholy smile spread across his own face as the Lieutenant looked between the three. “Michael’s not going alone anywhere.” 

Reno nodded her head to Tilly. “She’s right.”  
Paul straightened, aligning himself with the group as he looked to the crew up at the top of the stairs.  
B’toth. Chamalssian. Dorotea. M’Triss. Y’maltz. Smith. Jomir. More and more began crowding in and watching their shipmates as they overheard this conversation, some looking Paul and Jett in the eyes. 

He was their Commander, after all.  
Most of these ensigns he’d been with since the beginning of the war and Discovery’s christening, hand-picked to assist with Spore Drive and warp core maintenance... 

And the blood that made Discovery’s heart beat looked to him now with the same type of determination Paul decided on only a handful of minutes before.

Tilly’s voice cut through his train of thought. “Nil I’m-- I’m gonna miss you, y’know, I--” 

“Oh pfft, hell no, don’t give me that,” Nilsson agreed despite the tinge of pain in her expression. “My family… they’re all gone, Tilly. The war took a lot. But I’m not letting go of the one thing Disco gave me back after it all.”

Nilsson locked eyes with Tilly’s for a strained moment… and the two laughed, nodding at each other with very “alright, we’re doing this” sort of expressions.

“Orders, sirs?”

Chamalssian was the one who’d spoken up, both Reno and Stamets looking to the top of the stairwell to find all ensigns and junior Lieutenants awaiting instruction, hands behind their backs and grins on nearly all their faces.

Paul and Jett knew what had to be done. 

He’d have to send a message to his sister later.

“Let’s get ready to transfer a supernova.”

“Oh my god could you _be_ any more dramatic--” Reno groaned, snapping and waving a fist as she began to grab for the catwalk’s grates below. “Y’Maltz, get me the transfer cables that Stamets uses for argon-xenon infusion and run ‘em through a decon cycle…”

 

The next while was filled with the familiar project-laden buzz of Engineering. Whether it be drafting up suit schematics, jury rigging the Xahean’s very strange looking dilithium recrystalizer to the spore drive, or him and Reno trading orders for Ensigns and Junior Lieutenant, the distractions were welcomed and a good outlet despite the looming threat of Control’s approach. One factor Paul hadn’t considered, however, was the blipping of PADDs’ received notifications in Discovery’s crew messaging server. Affirmations sent from different departments, confirmations of crewmembers staying at their posts despite whatever happens, networks being made for those who were leaving the ship… even folks from the bridge found time to sneak their way “downstairs,” both Tilly and Nilsson greeting Lieutenants Detmer and Owosekun, affirming they weren’t going anywhere without the other (and neither were Rhys or Bryce). A plan was hatched to get all the bridge crew in on their mutual decisions to surprise Michael with this revelation and Paul, listening with a gentle (if wistful) grin, offered to join with a “you’re not leaving us out down here, are you?” while happily dragging Reno in on it, which she took with an impressive amount of stride. Detmer and Owosekun _especially_ made Tilly promise that she was going to be honest Michael in great depth, no matter how long it took the group would _wait_ for them both, Reno jestfully prodding with a “Jesus kid, how many people you spill the beans to about your crush before you talk the _actual_ woman?”

 _To the future then_ , Paul thought.  
A future where he nor his crew had to hide their true feelings for each other, and the dedication they showed to their ship and crew despite the malevolent AI that lurched ever closer.  
He still had to leave a message for his parents and sister before time got away from him.

“Paul.” 

Oh fuck.

How had he missed him coming in?

Huh.   
He couldn’t chide Burnham anymore for not wanting to talk to Tilly right away, could he.


	6. detmer/owosekun POV || so here it is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A windup before the big pitch! If your windup is organizing a group get-together to announce you're not jumping ship in solidarity with your shipmate, and the pitch is said shipmate finally talking to her soon-to-be-Red-Angel girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JOLA INTERLUDE !!! JOLA INTERLUDE WHAT'S UP || TITLE DROP TOO || it's a little one but it's still good/i wanted to do something to explain Tilly getting the nerves to actually go talk to Michael and also justify this being in the jola tag || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

“Come on, you’ve got this. Look at her Joann, she's got this.”    
“Oh yes she does. It’s going to be now or never, Tilly.”    
“Yeah-- besides, it’ll be… something better to focus on for now.”

“And considering Control’s going to be here in less than an hour,  you’re gonna need something good to focus on with work.”

For Keyla Detmer and Joann Owosekun, it had been a busy handful of… minutes? Seconds? No, not even a full hour. They didn’t  _ have  _ an hour. Discovery’s crew was still crunching  _ for  _ an hour. Rhys was still in tactical, figuring out how to align his targeting algorithms with Her Royal Highness Po's siege weapons, poor Bryce was tearing his hair out trying every hailing frequency he could, Nilsson putting her track and field training to good use shuttling to and fro Engineering and Bridge... Time was beginning to blur together (with or without the Red Angel’s help), the ever-looming threat of Control’s armada crawling closer and closer to a strong, but rightly intimidated crew. 

So, despite the clash of tone and scale from big to little pictures, it was nice, comforting, and  _ encouraging  _ to see people still being people, still struggling and grappling in their own personal lives in the depths and dire straights of space. 

Like being there for an ensign getting ready to spill the beans about a crush she’d been pining over for weeks now.

Sylvia sighed. 

“Can I get an opinion?” 

Keyla and Joann perked up.    


“Am I being too dramatic about all this?”

Keyla grinned.  
And just as she was about to say something, Joann brilliantly took the words right out of her mouth.

“No, Sylvia. It’s good you do this now. Because would you really want to work through this without Michael knowing? Maybe she needs to talk, too; she has an extreme amount of pressure on her. But I’d bet she wants to talk to you, specifically. Hear these things from  _ you _ . I can see how you’d comfort her. So it’s alright. You’re... being honest. ...And if  _ I _ can be honest… it looks like Discovery  _ itself  _ has a flare for the dramatic. So it only feels...” Joann paused to muse, “appropriate.”

Keyla finally let herself speak. “You’ve got that right.”

Tilly looked between the two helmswomen and took a deep breath in. 

“I’ll ping you both for bridge, and then Stamets to get Engineering when I’m ready. I'll bring Michael into crew quarters hall 2 before the turbolift two minutes after you get that notif, okay?”

Keyla nodded. “Got it. We’ll have who we can there.” 

“We’ll see you soon,” Joann promised. 

And with a meek nod from Tilly, Keyla and Joann turned their own ways to head back towards the bridge in full Operations Division mode, entering the turbolift as Joann’s voice asked for “Bridge.”

__ Control was coming.  
One of Joann and Keyla’s fellow officers, colleagues, best friends, were about to talk out serious relationship realizations.  
Discovery was waiting in Xahean space until the ship looked her fate in the face.  
__ Control was coming.  
And there was nothing they could do to stop it.

So, in a motion that must have felt unusually jarring from her typically-gentle touch, Keyla felt herself take Joann’s hand at her side, her thin hands lacing and rubbing and intertwining with her own fingers.

She was relieved to feel that Joann’s hand, in all its grace and beauty and softness and strength, gripped hers back with the same amount of vigor and near desperate touch. 

Motion. Expression. Physical communication had always been their strong suit.  
And it was no different here than there.

But Keyla, fighting through a pack of quickly-fraying nerves, had to say  _ something.  _    
Joann let her speak.  

“I can’t hold your hand up there…” the ginger started, keeping her line of sight directly with the door. 

Keyla felt her throat tighten as much as her grip did. 

“...So I’m gonna do what I can here, okay?”

She could practically sense Joann stop looking at her, Detmer feeling a hand squeeze hers a little tighter. 

Jo’s voice was like a warm blanket slicing through the dull hum of the turbolift.  
“We’re going to make it through this.”

Keyla, in all her bravery, tried desperately  _ not  _ to remember the last time she was in a starship that faced its own impending hell.  
So she let herself believe Joann. 

“I promise you, Keyla.”

_ Control was coming.   
_ But the people who resisted it were still here.

Keyla’s eyes fluttered shut and her lips wrapped inwards as her voice cracked out all she could say.

“Okay.”


	7. michael/tilly POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You absolutely /can/ get an opinion, Tilly.  
> In which: we finally face the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THE MYLVIA LORD SAID IT WAS FINISHED || thank you all so much for reading along it was really fun to add to scenes here and there and flesh out all these characters || i rewatched 2x13 again didn't realize how quick tilly pulls micheal out of their quarters to go meet up with The Gang so this IS a bit of a scene rewrite || thanks in special part to @AdmiralLiss on twitter and ThereBeWhalesHere on AO3 for inspiring me so much with her Mylvia fic originally || @raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

“That’s not who we are, Michael.” 

Tilly’s hands took Michael’s, her thumbs rubbing over the back of the woman’s half-gloved palms as the door shut behind them. 

“That’s not who  _ I  _ am.” 

Sylvia Tilly had Michael Burnham right where she wanted her (i.e. a controlled environment, their quarters, where something  _ wasn’t  _ going to explode, or a fungal entity was going to make her high as balls), and somehow that made things even  _ worse.  _ Worse, because that meant there was no backing out of this. No backing out of the cracked “sobs and wails” she had pleaded Michael to stay with upon greeting her at the door, to feel the woman hugging her despite Michael’s own wavering voice.   
‘ _ I was busy? _ ’ Tilly thought in the flash of their embrace.  _ Busy? Like I wouldn’t have time for  _ you _ , Michael?  _

The ginger was about to have a lot  _ more  _ time with her, anyway.  
And so, Tilly swallowed heavily, trying to collect the words she needed through eyes screwed shut. 

_ Put on a little smile, Sylvia.   
_ _ Here we go.  _

“You ever… think about how much this ship’s been through already?” Tilly began to ask, already flushing at how meek her voice sounded. “Made during a war? Starfleet sticking a bunch of nerds in space and expecting us to go fight? And how most of us... stuck together after that? Lorca, practically just- pitting us and Disco all in a corner, packed tighter and tighter together until we were all really there for each other? And now… now that we’ve gotten to do  _ science stuff,  _ what Discovery was  _ meant _ to do with Pike in the first place... even for all the hard stuff that comes  _ with _ discovery- that kind of unknown frontier and facing sometimes  _ scary  _ unknowns, and--” 

Tilly found her head shaking. “I’m losing track of myself, sorry…” she laughed, “you know I do that, of course you do.”

She paused. 

“Michael, I… I can’t let you go by yourself. …I can’t let you go, because I don’t want to imagine life without you.” 

A hard sniff and a quivering jaw was the only response she could muster to feeling Michael squeezing her hands tighter. 

That’s when all the words came tumbling out.

“And I know, this was  _ probably  _ the worst time to do this,” she told her with a self-deprecating smile, “no this  _ is  _ the worst time to be spilling all this, but I couldn’t live with myself if you went off and I never told you. A-about how I really felt about you, about  _ us,  _ and-- how I think I’ve come to like you as more than just an officer, Michael,  _ more  _ than a friend, more than a roomie. ...Nonono not  _ think,  _ I  _ know _ , because I can spend a lot of time thinking about things without actually talking about them. I think about… how kind you kind you were to me when you first got here and I was a jerk, when you pulled me out of the Network with Stamets and I was so happy to see your face again, h-how you hugged me on the bed, and how you’re always supporting me and give that-- really really gorgeous smile you do whenever something just lights your whole world up. I live for that, and I live for-- making you feel as supported as I can, because you give  _ me  _ that kind of support, and when you say you believe in me I really really believe it. We have fun together,” she paused for a hard sniff, “doing science hypothesis, going on those  _ runs  _ together, studying and you beat me real good at chess, and, getting Disco out of trouble... I don’t- I don’t expect you to say anything on your end, I’d never expect you to, but you’re not going alone--”

“Sylvia.” 

Sylvia stopped, braving herself to look back up to Michael’s face. Her voice is like a soft breeze, calming and cooling and comforting all at the same time.

Michael was rubbing her hands. 

Looking at her hands, rubbing at them, turning them over this way and that, as if to memorize each and every crease in her palms...

Michael couldn’t seem to stop looking down at their hands. 

Hands that were _together_.

“Everything in my mind is telling you to go on, Tilly,” Michael finally managed. Her hands squeezed Tilly’s again, stopping the circular rubbing. “To go on after this, after I leave. For you to go on and live a fulfilling… successful life, becoming captain, travelling the stars, commanding a crew and doing good for the galaxy. Being as great a captain as Pike, as- Georgiou,” Michael sniffed, with a fought-for grin. “That would be the logical path for you. The proper one. ...But my heart is begging me not to say that,” she said with a smile and desperate chuckle. “Begging me. Because after everything you’ve given  _ me…  _ I can’t imagine letting you go, either. And normally, you know I… can have a very hard time listening to this heart of mine. I’ve… struggled with whether or not I  _ should  _ listen to it. You’ve watched me struggle with it. And recently… it’s because I don’t want to ruin what I have with you. I did not want my selfishness and want for something…  _ more,  _ to cause the best friendship of my life to crumble because of what  _ I  _ want and maybe not what  _ you  _ want, and _ \--”  _

“Michael--” 

A million, trillion thoughts were running through Tilly’s mind after what Michael had just said. 

But even in the noise of all those hundreds of billions of thoughts, Sylvia Tilly could only focus on one thing she’d noticed.

“You kinda sound like me right now, y’know.”

She watched Michael’s scan her face for any sign of self-depreciation.   
There was none.   
Because, as Sylvia would discover, there was something quite magical about being able to make claim as someone who had rubbed off on Michael Burnham. 

“But that was-- really sweet, thank you,” Tilly managed, surprised at herself that she hadn’t exploded into a million piece from how sweet that was. “I agree. What you said-- everything. And here it took me like three people to chat with before I got the guts to even  _ talk  _ to you--”

She watched Michael’s eyes widen exponentially. “You as well?” 

_ Oh my GOD was the universe even REAL RIGHT NOW--  
_ _ Did the entire goddamn ship know by this point!? _

Tilly felt her mouth gape. “Oh my god--”    
“And here I was self-conscious about discussing this with others,” Michael sighed, shaking her head at herself as she swallowed embarrassment. “Who did you speak to-?”  
“Nonono you first,” Sylvia insisted, “I want you to guess who it was."

So Michael started with a bashful look. “Lieutenant Owosekun?”    
“Yep, yeah, first try, good guess,” Tilly paused, allowing a fleck of flirtiness to cut through her reeling emotions as she squinted playfully at Michael. “Did you aaask... Detmer?”   
Which, of course, Michael returned with a grin of her own. “Shenzhou crew flew tight, you know. ...Reno?”    
“Is this why your brother looked at me funny in our room a while back?”  
“Is this why Stamets looked like he was gonna cry when he stopped me after my bridge announcement?”   
Tilly sniffed with a giggle. “Please, Commander Stamets has looked like he’s about to start crying at the drop of a hat for the past few weeks. …Oh my god that sounds so mean, please don’t tell him I said that--”    
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Tilly,” Michael promised with that beautiful, signature, ‘I’m Michael Burnham and I’m pouring everything humanly possible into this smile’ look she managed to give people who deserved it. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

A warm, relishing silence steeped in realization, comfort, and gentle smiles hung between the women.

“We can take this slow, if you want,” Michael spoke up.    
“As slow as you want, pretty lady. ...We’re gonna have a lot of time on our hands a thousand years into the future. Or-- 930, to be exact- ‘scuse me.”

Oh god had she really just called Michael “pretty lady?” Did that actually slip out of her consciousness and from out mouth after they had  _ just  _ agreed to take it slow? But Sylvia was seeing that the compliment was infectious. Michael’s smile was, somehow, even wider, hands moving upward and her smooth thumb brushing against Tilly’s cheek at the compliment, Sylvia feeling her own dimples flush to unbearable degrees of heat in Michael’s hands…

Discovery was about to face off against a malevolent AI that was hellbent on killing not only everyone aboard their ship, but also every sentient soul in the galaxy. 

Oh god, she’d just thought “their” ship.

But somehow, in the embrace of Michael Burnham, that fear (and embarrassment) simply melted away, and all that was left was the sincere, beautiful gaze of one of the bravest souls she’d ever known.  
Sylvia swallowed.   
Michael nodded. 

That warm silence from before had now turned deafening, and seemed to wait for something to happen.

“We’re going to have a very difficult hour or so ahead of us.”    
“Yeah.”    
“Mmm. ...Tilly may I--”    
“Oh, absolutely--” 

And suddenly Sylvia’s eyes were closed and her lips were pressed against Michael’s and everything in the universe made sense as Sylvia Tilly finally,  _ finally,  _ kissed Michael Burnham. 

It was a little awkward, at first; in her excitement and emotion-riddled haze, Sylvia had mashed her own mouth against Michael’s incoming-too-fast lips, so teeth met lips in a less-than-ideal way. But the two quickly, wordlessly, seemed to make amends without thought, and a beautiful rebuttal of a kiss was made in the form of Michael’s wonderful, gentle hands cupping Tilly’s cheeks and jawline. Sylvia’s brain raced to process the multiple factors playing in at once: the sheer emotions that were ripping through her gut, memorizing the feeling of Michael’s lips, savoring the taste of the woman who held her so gingerly… and yet, for as simple, but infinitely, beautifully complex the taste was on Tilly’s lips, she noted something unusual that lingered on her tongue. 

A slight tinge of saltiness.

Of course.  
Tears.  
Sylvia hoped they were hopeful ones.

After what felt like eons gone by in an instant, the two pulled apart, Michael’s thumb brushing over Sylvia's warm cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.” 

“You’re not the only one who’s guilty of that,” Tilly assured. “...That was nice, Michael. Really nice.”    
“Fantastic,” Michael finished with her in a quietly shared laugh, with which her expression fell into a more sombre grin, hands tracing down Tilly’s cheeks, shoulders, arms, and finally going to hold Tilly’s hands again as she spoke. 

“...You asked me a long time ago... to lie to you, the last time I did something this dangerous.”    
Tilly remembered, nodding and following Michael along. “Not easy to forget, Miss Adrenaline Junkie.” 

Michael smirked at the comment. “I’m not going to lie to you again. I don’t want to. I can hardly bear the thought of it. So instead… I’m gonna make it a promise. That we’re both gonna come out of this. Or, at least, that I’m gonna try like hell on my end to make sure we come out of it. To make sure that future can happen for you. Me. ...Us,” she paused, visually reeling from using the wording for the first time, “no matter where, or--  _ when  _ that is, I suppose.” 

“I know you will,” Tilly agreed and oh shit she still had to ping Stamets and Owo. “I know you will because you give your 100% in  _ everything  _ you do, Michael Burnham. Sometimes a little too much. And if I can even match that by a  _ fraction,  _ then… I think we’ll get through this. We gotta believe we can, right? Isn’t that the first step?”

Michael grinned. “Cautious optimism, I believe they call it.”

“Faith, of a sorts.”    
“Isik for your thoughts.”    
“Stop it, I  _ knew  _ you were gonna say that,” TIlly chuckled, sniffing as her hands broke with Michael's (an absolute crime) and fiddled with the PADD in her pocket. Two minute countdown timer, go. 

Michael took a breath to try and recompose herself, giving Tilly’s hands one more squeeze. “I like ‘Miss Adrenaline Junkie,’ by the way.”    
“Oh, I can’t take credit for that- Reno said it first and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”    
Sylvia smiled as Michael playfully rolled her eyes, no doubt filing that away for later. “Okay… okay. I gotta get back to--” 

“Not right now you’re not,” Sylvia stopped her, stuffing the PADD away and returning the same grip Michael gave her hands. “You’re coming with me first. Come on. Promise it’ll be real quick, ok? You can get right back to work on the suit’s UI, but I have something to show you. ...And some other people, but- I’m the one doing the, showing, ha--”

Michael gave her a raised brow as Tilly pulled her back towards their sealed doorway, a small and desperate “wait” from Michael stopping the ginger’s gentle tug before leaving their quarters. Tilly was still having a hell of a time processing this had all happened, that she had  _ told  _ Michael  _ everything  _ and she actually  _ reciprocated _ , and oh, she couldn’t stand the sadness and longing in Michael’s eyes that seemed to linger no matter how many cheery words were exchanged… 

But Sylvia wanted so, so badly to take the burdensome taste of salt from Michael’s lips.

The two’s eyes were darting between their eyes and mouths.  
It looked like Michael was thinking the same thing, too.   
And this time, Sylvia actually had the reaction time to hold Michael’s jawline. 

Her heart fluttered as she felt Michael’s hands grip themselves in her bountiful ponytail, this kiss decidedly much deeper and more lingering than their first round had been. Sylvia, in all her euphoric joy, imagined how beautiful this must look from an outside perspective: the light of Discovery’s warp signature spilling in through their windows, the sheer beauty of Michael tangling her hands in a ginger mountain of curls…  god, she could only imagine what Michael was like  _ outside  _ of this rapid intimacy. What it might be like to  _ keep  _ kissing her without the worst deadline ever hanging over their heads, to lie in the same bed together and smell the sweet scent that cut through the sterile tinge of a starship’s replicated sheets, to hear that laugh buried in her own hair and hands holding her as gently and passionately as they did now...

This starship was on the run for the fate of all sentient life.   
But now, Sylvia Tilly had a little something extra to fight for. 

So, when the two pulled back and held each other’s gaze for a small moment, Michael nodded and allowed her hands to fall from Sylvia’s hair.  

“I wish we had more time to enjoy this.”

And Tilly could only offer a smile back.

“We do, remember?” Sylvia told her. “We’re gonna have 930 years worth.”


End file.
